


Second chances

by ylc



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A little angst, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Eventual Romance, Happy Ending, Insecurity, M/M, Pining, Some Humor, a little fluff, it takes them some time but they get there I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-05-02 04:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Crowley finds an abandoned newborn baby. Under other circumstances, he would have come to Aziraphale for help, but after a careless comment from the angel, their relationship isn’t at its best.The solution then, is quite clear:Look after the baby himself.





	1. Eve

**Author's Note:**

> So… this. I started this ages ago (four years ago apparently. Huh. Where did the time go?) and after watching the TV show, I figured I might as well give it another try. I had 3 full chapters written, but they’re being heavily edited so I can not possibly promise more or less steady updates… but hopefully I won’t take awfully long between them either :P  
> It’s been a while since I wrote for this fandom (since 2016, apparently) so… bear with me. If the characters feel a little OOC… Well, hopefully that won’t continue to be the case as we go along.  
> Anyway, without further ado, enjoy!

It just seems so... inhuman. He can’t really say it’s  _ evil  _ or  _ bad _ ; it simply seems to go against human nature. Crowley’s fairly sure there are certain instincts imprinted into their very DNA to prevent this sort of thing from happening.

But maybe not.

He stares at the little bundle in his arms. The bundle, which happens to be a newborn baby, stares back at him. Dark eyes, red rimmed, stare at his own odd eyes unblinking and unafraid, just curious. She stopped crying the minute he picked her up, comforted by his sole presence and something inside Crowley ached: people don’t tend to find his presence  _ comforting _ .

Then again, it’s quite chilly out here and the baby only has a very thin blanket covering her, so he supposes she welcomes his warmth, cold blooded as he might be. She squirms a little, not much; she’s way too small to make too much of a fuss and he supposes she’s half frozen too. But she seems content enough now that someone is holding her, nevermind that someone happens to be a demon who knows nothing about the appropriate way of holding a baby.

He looks around, uncertain. The baby gurgles and he looks down at her. He thinks she might need a diaper change and she’s probably hungry, but he’s not sure what to do. He makes a face and wills her diaper clean and a set of warm clothes covering her, figuring that’ll have to do for now. 

The baby just continues staring at him calmly.

She has beautiful eyes, he thinks. Too big for her small face, but surely she’ll grown into them. They’re a rich chocolate brown, suiting her just as perfectly as her dark skin and her even darker hair.

Has he started to sound like a proud parent complimenting his newborn?

She reminds him of someone. Another woman, the most beautiful one he has ever had the pleasure to cross paths with, who was also smart and curious and-

“Eve,” he whispers to himself and she seems to perk up at the name. It’s ridiculous, he knows, she’s a newborn baby to cry it out loud! She’s too young to understand anything he says or anything that happens; she’s innocence incarnated. Crowley supposes so was the original Eve, once upon a time and he still doesn’t see what’s so terrible about knowing the difference between good and evil, but that’s not here not there.

He holds the baby closer, as the wind starts blowing, the night becoming even chillier. They should get out of the street, but that leaves the question of what he should do with her. It’s clear no one is coming back for her: one does not leave a newborn baby in a rubbish bin if you intend to look after them. 

He can’t keep her.  _ He doesn’t want to keep her _ . After the whole fiasco with the AntiChrist, he should know he’s not fit to look after babies, not even for a little while. But he can’t leave her out here and he doesn’t want to take her to an orphanage. It seems wrong, somehow.

_ Aziraphale. You should take her to Aziraphale,  _ his mind supplies and he mulls it over for a while. Sure, it’s not like the angel is any better with kids than he is, but he’ll probably help him come up with a plan of action, if nothing else.

Images of their last encounter come forward uninvited and he clenches his jaw. No, that’s definitely not happening. Crowley might be  _ dying _ to see his angelic  _ friend _ but after their last conversation--

No, that’s not happening.

So what now? Should he take the child to his flat? Seems like his only choice, at least for the time being. Maybe another solution will present itself at some point, but right now he’s too tired to think of any proper course of action. Sighing, he finally nods to himself, having come to a decision.

_ Just for the night _ , he tells himself. Come tomorrow morning, he’ll figure something else out.

Sounds like a solid plan.

* * *

 

The child squirms a little once they’re back into his flat and he wills some formula into existence, along with a baby bottle. The girl latches at the plastic nipple with obvious delight and Crowley sits on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position. The baby barely minds his movements; she’s too busy eating at her heart’s content.

Soon enough, she falls asleep, her lips still around the plastic nipple. Sighing, he considers where to place her. He could make a cradle appear into the living room, but it’s not an option he really fancies. Human beings have all these crazy theories on whether babies should sleep with their parents or not, but his instincts suggest they should share the bed. In Heaven, all fledglings sleep in nests cuddled with others like them, so it seems perfectly natural to place the baby next to him on the bed, curling his body around hers, careful not to crush her, keeping her warm.

Poor thing must still be freezing after her near death experience.

If he hadn’t gone out when he did… he shivers just thinking about it. It’s  _ inhuman _ , cruel in ways even demons normally aren’t.  It almost seems like there are higher forces involved, because it’s not like Crowley makes an habit of disposing of his rubbish in the  _ human _ way. But tonight-

Of course there are no higher powers involved. Hell wouldn’t care about an abandoned human baby and Heaven-- He scoffs; the notion is simply ridiculous.

He stares at the baby and thinks he shouldn’t care either. A proper demon would have left the child to her fate, but it just seemed so  _ inhuman  _ and he found he simply  _ couldn’t _ . He might be a demon, but he likes to think he’s a decent one: he might not be one for  _ feelings _ or  _ compassion  _ or  _ love _ , but--

_ You’re a demon Crowley. Of course you don’t love. _

He grits his teeth, trying to push the painful memory away. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive Aziraphale for his careless words; sure, they had been drunk, but that just makes it worse, doesn’t it? Drunk people tend to speak their mind and if that’s what Aziraphale truly thinks--

it doesn’t matter. He really shouldn’t think about that.

He closes his eyes, desperately trying to chase away the constricting feeling in his chest, forcing himself to take deep breaths, trying to calm himself down and keep his mind blank. The warm presence of the child next to him, along with that distinctive smell of newborn baby, soothes him somehow and soon enough, he drifts to sleep too.

* * *

 

_ Of all the new creations, Crawly had liked Eve best. The human female was beautiful beyond description and not in the sense of her being physically attractive (that wasn’t a concept that existed just yet): she was a one of a kind creature, completely different from the other inhabitants of Eden. _

_ Adam might have belonged to the same species, different from the other creatures too, but Eve… Eve was something else: she seemed soft and fragile, but she was far from it. She was fierce and strong willed; God might have created her so the Man wouldn’t be alone but she seemed to do just fine when her partner wasn’t around. While Adam was all sharp and strong lines, Eve was all soft curves, but just as strong as him. She was smaller, more agile, graceful and much more curious. _

_ While Adam was satisfied with knowing things worked the way they did because that was God’s will, Eve was full of questions, full of ‘whys’. When she voiced her thoughts her partner would shrug and advice against asking too much, but Eve hardly paid him any mind. She was determined to figure out the workings of the world they lived in and she wouldn’t let anything (or anyone) discourage her. _

_ That turned out to be her downfall, of course. _

_ But while the Man left the Garden angry and scared, Eve left it with the firm conviction that it was for the best, even though she was scared too.  _

_ Crawly didn’t understand what the big deal about the damn tree was, but in the long run, he has also come to believe that Eve had done the right thing by eating the fruit. If she hadn’t, humans would have stayed in the Garden forever, knowing no pain or suffering, but trapped in time: no progress would have ever been made. _

_ And even if some human creations are awful, dangerous and chaotic, they’ve also made beautiful things; things beyond the imagination of any ethereal (or occult) being. _

_ All in all, humanity has a lot to thank Eve for. _

* * *

 

The baby wakes up multiple times during the night and Crowley is glad he doesn’t have to get up to get her a bottle or change her diaper. He doesn’t know how humans manage; he has only been taking care of the little one for a few hours, using his powers and yet, he’s tired.

The little babe seems happy, though. She gurgles and reaches for him whenever he approaches. She’s a lovely child; seemingly very bright and incredibly aware of her surroundings despite her young age. She doesn’t cry much, even when hungry and she smiles at him whenever he happens to look at her. She probably doesn’t do it on purpose; she’s probably not aware of what she’s doing, but it warms something inside Crowley all the same. 

He carries her around the flat while he goes about his usual routine: making coffee, eating breakfast, threatening his plants. She takes naps while he pretends to work and by the time night falls again, Crowley doesn’t ever want to let her go.

It’s an odd feeling. As a demon, he’s fairly certain he’s not supposed to be able to develop this level of attachment,  _ of affection,  _ after so little time together. Then again, as he’s proved before, he’s a lousy excuse of a demon on that regard: he’s a demon who loves deeply and quickly, regardless of what certain angels might think.

After all, he did fall in love after just one conversation, didn’t he?

He’s bound to get in lot of trouble if someone from Down There finds out about Eve, (regardless of how little attention Hell has paid him lately) but he has already decided he’s keeping her. He’s done his research and has decided to simply claim her as his own, instead of going through the whole charade of adopting her. He could probably make whatever papers he might need appear, but he figures doing it the human way might save him some trouble in the future.

With that thought in mind, he lies down to sleep, curled around his little buddle once more, Eve’s little hand holding his pinky finger with all her might, a small satisfied smile on her lips.

* * *

 

Bureaucracy. That seems to be a constant no matter where you are: Heaven, Hell, Earth; everywhere it’s a pain in the ass. 

Crowley takes a deep breath while he continues filling forms from the General Registration Office. By now he’s regretting he didn’t simply made the birth certificate appear; still, he has come a long way to take a shortcut now. Besides, if someone in Hell is keeping track of all the things he wills into existence, he’ll rather not explain _ why  _ he needed a birth certificate. 

It takes most of the morning, but leaving the office with the certificate in his hands feels like his greatest accomplishment. He smiles down at the baby, who is now sleeping soundly after having finished her third bottle of the day, her head resting against Crowley’s chest, her breaths strong and even.

_ Eve Crowley  _ the birth certificate reads. The demon smiles to himself, feeling oddly giddy: as any real parent would, he suspects. He makes his way back to his flat, humming a cheerful song to himself, careful not to jostle Eve too much, least he disturbs her peaceful sleep. He has never particularly liked children and he’s not really good with them (as the whole business with the AntiChrist proved), but something about the little girl in his arms  _ calls _ for him, making him want to look after her.

In all honesty, it’s a quite pleasant feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I have something resembling of a plot sketched out, but I basically wanted to write an awful lot of pining without sacrificing some fluff so… yeah. It’s not really my usual thing, but this plot bunny never really abandoned me and I figured now was the perfect time to let it out of its cage :P Also, I feel like I should tell you I might mix book and show canon so… be warned :P  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?  
> 


	2. Helmsley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It took me a bit longer than I intended, but work has been a little crazy so… sorry about that.  
> Anyway, enjoy?

Crowley’s good mood evaporates the minute he walks into his flat, only to find a message on his answering machine waiting for him. Not so long ago he’d have been thrilled at getting a message from Aziraphale, especially after an argument; why, if the message had come just yesterday… well, who knows? It’s very likely that he’d have done as he always has: he’d have pushed his hurt down, swallowed his pride and met Aziraphale for lunch or drinks or whatever, merrily ignoring his broken heart.

Not today, however. The angel made it quite clear what he thinks about him and he’s done playing whatever game his counterpart is playing: he doesn’t understand the rules and by now he’s come to realize he never will. And for the longest time that hadn’t mattered; just being close to Aziraphale in any shape or form was enough, he’d have settled for whatever scraps of affection he could get, all too aware that he didn’t deserve anything else, that just this little was much more than what he could ever possibly hope to get.

But after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t… well, he had thought  _ maybe _ there was a chance. After everything they went through, he had dared to believe-- It was foolish, of course; he’s always been nothing but a convenient ally and that’s all he can ever hope to be. Of course Aziraphale sided with him and even helped him escape a certain (and very painful) death; it was just natural seeing they had both upset their respective sides, but of course the minute Heaven came calling…

Well.

But that’s the way things have always been and the way they’ll always be. Crowley long ago resigned himself to it, even if from time to time he found himself foolishly hoping (wanting,  _ praying _ ) for something else. But he could have lived with that,  _ he has lived with that _ , except-- except--

Aziraphale casual dismissal of his feelings  _ hurt _ . That he wouldn’t return the sentiment was given, but the way he had brushed Crowley’s feelings aside, dismissed them as imaginary? No, that he can’t handle.

He looks at Eve once again. The child is sucking her thumb, her eyes still closed. He can’t stay in London with her. If Aziraphale was to find out… well, there’s no telling what he would do. He would never believe Crowley’s intentions are pure, he’ll suspect there’s some big hellish plan going on.

_ He might take her away _ . The single thought makes Crowley’s insides clench and although he’s a little baffled by the intensity of his feelings for the little human he has just known for couple of days, he knows he wouldn’t be able to bear the pain of losing her.

No, he needs to leave.

Question is, where? 

He doesn’t want to leave England. He’s got used to the country after so many centuries of being more or less stationed there. But he must go far away from London; somewhere Aziraphale would never think of looking for him.

He puts Eve down on his bed and wills a laptop into existence. He glares at it until it opens the internet browser and he starts his research. He needs to find somewhere nice, quiet, a good place to raise a child.

Somewhere where an angel will never find them.

* * *

 

“This is one of the best properties I have. Not one of those new  _ flimsy _ constructions, no sir, this one is made of pure stone, which makes it quite charming, don’t you think? And of course…”

The real estate agent keeps on talking, but Crowley isn’t listening anymore. He looks around the cottage; it’s big, bigger than what he and Eve could possibly need, but it’s lovely. The sort of house he imagines most humans would like to live in and so the perfect place for his little Eve to grow up.

“I’ll buy it,” he interrupts the woman’s rant but she takes no offense. She smiles brightly at him and starts explaining the buying process, but Crowley tunes her out once again, wandering around the house instead, whispering soft promises to Eve, about the things they’ll get, his plans to redecorate, the plants he’ll get for the garden. Eve doesn’t make a sound, content enough in the sling Crowley got her, simply watching him, her small hand firmly grasping the lapel of Crowley’s suit jacket. 

He’s going to like it here, even if it’s much different from London.

* * *

 

Helmsley is a small market town in North Yorkshire, which population doesn’t go much above a couple of thousand people and while it has quite an inflow of tourists during the year, it’s a quiet place.

The locals have been friendly so far, although it’s not like Crowley has make any real effort to socialize. He often finds himself thinking that Aziraphale would find the town  _ charming _ and whenever he discovers a new place to eat or drink he has to stop himself from texting the angel to tell him about it. It’s ridiculous, he knows and he ought to be careful: the whole point of moving was to avoid Aziraphale finding them and the last thing he needs is for his own stupid  _ longing _ to ruin his plan.

The good thing about newborn babies is that they require a lot of attention, which keeps Crowley distracted so he might not drown in his own misery. He’s certainly not sulking as much as he’d be if he was on his own and setting up the new house keeps him busy too. He’s been doing it the  _ human  _ way, not wanting to drag Hell’s attention and also not wanting to raise suspicions among his new neighbors: it’s a small town and he’s a newcomer, the less attention he drags to himself, the better.

He’s just finishing furnishing Eve’s room (well, willing the newly acquired furniture to fit wherever he wants it) when the doorbell rings. He considers not answering, but quickly decides against it. If he’s going to live here for a long time, it won’t hurt to be in good terms with the neighbors: after all, he’s not on his own anymore and Eve could probably do with some  _ human _ company. He picks Eve up from the baby carrier where she’s dozing off and he heads towards the door.

Standing at the porch is a woman of around 30, with what looks like some kind of casserole in her hands. A child of about 3 years old stands nervously next to her, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse.

“Hello,” the demon greets politely and the woman smiles brightly at him.

“Hello,” she replies cheerfully. “My name is Marcia and this is my daughter, Juliet. We’ve just come to welcome you to the neighborhood. We live next door,” she introduces themselves, tilting her head in the direction of her house.

“I’m Cr-- Anthony,” he corrects smoothly; the less people that knows him as Crowley, the less likely it’ll be for a certain angel to find him. “This is Eve.”

“Oh, she’s a doll!” the woman coos, staring down at the baby. “Hello beautiful!” she greets her while Juliet stands on her tiptoes, trying to get a better look. “It’s just the two of you?” she asks, aiming to sound nonchalant and missing the mark a little.

Crowley tenses. By now everyone in town must be wondering about Eve’s mother, since they’ve just seen Crowley around. It’s normal they’re curious and Marcia has probably been tasked with finding out more, seeing she lives next door. That’s of course the problem with small towns: everyone knows everyone and asking them to keep their noses out of everyone else’s business is too much to ask.

But Marcia doesn’t seem to mean any harm and he’s going to need to make up a story about Eve’s mother sooner or later, so he might as well start now. Of course just thinking of Eve’s biological mother, who abandoned her to her fate makes his blood boil (or it would, if he had any real blood rushing through his veins) but considering Eve is likely to ask about her at some point, he figures he ought not to be too harsh on her. “It’s just us, I’m afraid,” he replies with a shrug. “Her mom… she’s not around anymore.”

There. Vague enough to leave him enough place to lie when the time comes and his tone clipped enough to suggest he does not wish to discuss the subject.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Marcia apologizes, blushing a little. She meant no harm and Crowley’s tone wasn’t exactly friendly, although he meant no harm either. Still, the less it’s said on the subject, the better. “I just-- I shouldn’t have--” she stammers out.

“Nevermind it,” Crowley dismisses, unwilling to linger on the subject too much. Besides, as with  _ thank yous,  _ he’s never been too comfortable with too many apologies either. “No need to apologise”

The woman bites her lip, a guilty expression on her face but quickly seems to figure out letting the subject drop is for the best. “Well, anyway… We brought you a little something,” she says, raising the casserole. Crowley would take it, but his hands are a little busy at the moment, something the woman seems to remember suddenly, making her blush some more. “Sorry. Should I put it in the kitchen?”

Crowley moves away, allowing her in, little Juliet trailing after her mother dutifully after taking one last curious glance at Eve. Marcia heads for the kitchen, seemingly well acquainted with the house’s distribution and Crowley wonders briefly if she was friends with the previous owner. “I saw the moving ban this morning and I thought you might get hungry with all the moving and stuff so I figured…” she trails off awkwardly, finally placing the casserole over the pristine kitchen counter. “I hope I didn’t overstep.”

“That’s very kind,” Crowley says and wishes he was a little better acquainted with how is one supposed to be  _ nice.  _ He never really entertained guests at his flat, unless you’re willing to count his  _ co-workers _ and when they happened to drop by Crowley was always in a rush for them to leave so…

And there was of course Aziraphale, but that was different. The angel was a _ guest _ strictly speaking, but Crowley always felt like he belonged there or rather, Crowley had always wanted him to belong there, so maybe--

But that’s not here not there.

They stand in awkward silence for a beat, both at lost on what to say. Juliet has stepped closer to Crowley once more, trying to get a better look at Eve, standing on her tiptoes and Crowley bites his lip. 

Well… since they’re going to neighbors and Eve could probably do with some friends-- “Would you like to stay for dinner? It’s way too much for me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose--” Marcia begins and Crowley waves a hand dismissively. 

“No, no, I insist,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind the company,” he adds and finds he actually means it. Through the centuries, he’s been more of a loner: Aziraphale was the one who tended to fraternize with humans, while Crowley was happy enough on his own. Or rather, as long as he knew Aziraphale was around, he felt like he didn’t need anyone else’s company.

But now-- well. 

He supposes he might be a little lonely.

(And whose fault is that?)

* * *

 

“I’m terribly sorry about it,” Marcia tells him some time later, startling Crowley a little. They finished their meal a while ago and they’ve been sitting at Crowley’s new living room, drinking some wine. When he offered, it had seemed like the right  _ polite  _ thing to do, but it’s been a bit awkward. He’s just not used to company of the not-celestial kind.

“Huh?” he asks, confused, looking at his interlocutor. Marcia smiles indulgently, pointing in the direction of the smallish crib where Eve is taking a nap, Juliet sitting next to it, watching her intently.

“She’s at that age when she wants nothing more in this world than a little sibling,” Marcia tells him, smiling a bit. “She finds babies fascinating, as long as they don’t start crying.”

Crowley snorts. “Eve is very well behaved, actually,” he feels obliged to say. “She’s-- she doesn’t make a lot of fuss.”

Marcia hums, taking a sip from her drink. “Lucky you. Juliet barely slept a blink when she was that little.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “I don’t think I’ve quite recovered from all those sleepless nights.”

Crowley nods, uncertain of what he can possibly say. Marcia’s eyes are fixed on her daughter, a soft sad smile on her lips. “It’s just Juliet and me too, you know?” she murmurs softly, twirling her wine glass distractedly. “So I know… I know it’s not easy. So if you need…” she waves a hand vaguely, looking at him once more. “Just ask.”

Crowley nods once more, feeling more and more wrong footed. “And I don’t mean--” Marcia continues, unbothered by Crowley’s silence and awkwardness. “Well, not just help with looking after Eve if needed. I mean-- talking or whatever. Sometimes leaving is the best you can do, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt every step of the way.”

That strikes a little too close home and Crowley flinches a little, but luckily Marcia isn’t looking at him. “Thanks, I suppose,” he murmurs.

“The change of scenery will make you a world of good,” she assures him. “And of course, Eve will keep you too busy to wallow in self pity too much. It’ll get better with time.”

Crowley hums thoughtfully. People say time heals all wounds and if there’s something he has, it’s time. 

He only wishes it was that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?   
> i had the next chapter mostly written down, but I’ve decided I want to speed things up a little: as much as I like writing ridiculous amounts of pining, I really want these two idiots to get their shit together so… yeah, Aziraphale is showing much earlier than I originally planed (or rather, in less chapters than I originally thought)  
> So, anyway, let me know what you thought, pretty please?  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I must admit I struggled a bit with it; I had already written most of chapter 3 when I originally started this fic a lifetime ago, but I opted for changing it completely since it no longer matched the idea I had in mind. There’s a bit of a time skip and so a few details I had planned on got scratched (I might sprinkle them here and there as the story progress) and hopefully, these changes will be for the best :P  
> So, without further ado, enjoy!

"Don't think that being Eve's favorite will spare you if you start slacking off," Crowley tells the apple tree very seriously. "You're a disgrace to apple trees everywhere." 

In truth, the tree in question is a perfect specimen, much more verdant than any tree has any right to be in this particular weather. But Crowley does not settle for anything less than perfection, as every other plant in the garden could testify (if they could speak, that is). 

But this is Eve's favorite tree and so it gets away with the occasional brown spot and bitter fruits. 

Crowley moves away, continuing his surveyance of the garden. He knows he has the most beautiful garden in the whole town, a constant source of envy among his neighbors. Most of the plants made the whole trip from London so they're used to their Master's high expectations and in fact, will dare to say he's grown somewhat _soft._ The new ones however, live in constant fear, nowhere near used to the treatment and so doing their very best to grow even more luscious and verdant.

"Now, what's this?" he asks, kneeling down next to the hydrangeas. "Are those dead leaves?" 

The flowers shiver in fear but before Crowley can do anything at all, he's toppled over by someone colliding into him. If he was human, that'd have been very painful, since all the air rushed out of his lungs, but thankfully he's not, so he survives the attack with minimal damage. 

That of course doesn’t mean he’s not going to be dramatic about it. “I’m being attacked! Help!” he yells, earning himself a few giggles, Eve laying on top of him, a smile brightening her whole face.

“Surrender, foul fiend!” she exclaims dramatically and Crowley wonders briefly what her teacher has been reading to them now. She picks the oddest phrases from time to time. “I’ve got you trapped.”

“You do indeed,” Crowley replies with a smirk, before easily standing up, picking her up too, fingers digging onto her sides. Eve squeals, laughing as she tries to free herself, twisting so much Crowley does worry he’ll drop her. 

“Stop, stop!” she screams between giggles. “I give up!”

“The tables have turned, it seems,” Crowley says, smiling as he puts her down. Eve giggles some more, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing. She’s still terribly small and so Crowley has to lean a bit forward to return the hug, but he does manage.

“So, how was school?” he asks, distractedly waving goodbye at Marcia, who dropped her by, leading the way back into the cottage. Eve smiles, bright as the sun and starts chattering excitedly about one thing or another. TV had lead Crowley to believe children hate school in general, but Eve seems to enjoy it a great deal. He smiles fondly, remembering the first time he took her to school: if someone was nervous about it, it was definitely him. Eve took to school like a fish to water and while she does occasionally run into trouble (mostly due some disregard for authority, something Crowley is secretly very proud of), she’s a good student, well loved by her peers and the teaching faculty.

He smiles indulgently, listening to Eve attentively as he makes her supper, thinking all in all, things have worked out just fine.

And isn’t that a miracle on itself?

* * *

 

Human’s lives are but a blink of an eye for a demon, a fact Crowley has always been painfully aware of. That’s why he decided against fraternizing with them too much: what was the point when they’d be gone so soon?

Time means very little when you’re mostly immortal but these last six years have been simultaneously the longest and the shortest of Crowley’s considerable existence. Eve grew way too quickly: one minute she could barely sit up on her own and the next she was running around the house, squealing in delight as Crowley chased her. Watching her learning to walk and talk was a most fascinating experience: true, he had been present for a good part of Warlock’s childhood, so he was more or less familiar with how quickly children grow, but seeing it with Eve had been a whole different experience. He supposes it was because this time around it had been more of a hands-on experience, but--

He watches her as she does her homework, nose scrunched adorably as she repeats a word over and over again, attempting to figure out the syllables to write it down. “This is hard,” she declares with a slight pout, putting her pencil down. “I want some cocoa.”

Crowley huffs, shaking his head. “Homework first. We agreed on that.”

For someone who never actually met Aziraphale, it’s funny how much Eve’s expressions sometimes resemble the angel’s. The slight pout, along with the puppy eyes that always made Crowley’s knees go weak are a terrible combination and soon enough he finds himself pouring a cup of cocoa. Eve smiles mischievously, taking a sip while Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically.

He was always powerless to resist that particular expression on Aziraphale's face.

How could he possibly resist it on his little girl’s?

* * *

 

“I’m just saying-- if you’re looking for crepes, Paris is the place to go.”

“Right, because going to Paris just because you fancy some crepes is a perfectly logical thing to do,” Marcia snorts, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Well, I thought that too, but then I tried them out in this fancy little cafe and _voila._ I was convinced,” Crowley says, briefly wondering if the cafe still exists. When was the last time he was to France, anyway? He’s fairly certain Warlock’s family flew there at some point, but he doesn’t seem to remember any particulars. He and Aziraphale didn’t have crepes, of that much he’s sure, but he supposes they had more pressing concerns, seeing they both believed they were looking after the Antichrist.

Go-Sa- _Someone_ , what a mess that was.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a food critic,” Marcia says, oblivious to Crowley’s increasingly worrisome thoughts. “I don’t think I’ve seen you eat that much. It’s usually just coffee or tea with you when we take the girls out to eat.”

At that, Crowley looks in the direction where said girls are busy playing. Or conspiring for some mischief, if their expressions and hushed tones are anything to go by. “I don’t like eating out that much,” he replies although in truth he doesn’t like eating much, period. It’s not like he needs to and, unlike a certain angel, he never really understood the appeal.

“And yet you seem to have very strong opinions about _crepes_ of all things,” Marcia says, pointing at him accusingly with her fork. “How come?”

Crowley sighs, shrugging non committedly. “I don’t-- I mean, Aziraphale always said--”

“Ah,” Marcia says and Crowley bites his lip. Right, he’s not supposed to casually keep mentioning the angel. “You know, considering he broke your heart, you seem to be overly fond of this Aziraphale.”

Crowley shrugs once again. “It’s complicated,” he says and leaves it at that. His love life (or lack of it) is an often discussed subject in town, he’s been made aware. It’s not that surprising, he supposes: he’s a single father who also happens to be well off and attractive, so everyone’s a little curious on why the position of Eve’s mother is still vacant. The general consensus, or so Marcia has told him, is that his _gentleman friend_ broke his heart, leading him to sleep with Eve’s biological mother, who bailed on them shortly after, having figured out Crowley was too gone on said gentleman friend to ever give anyone else a real chance. It’s a little unimaginative, Crowley thinks, but it’s as good as an explanation as any other.

Marcia considers him in silence for a beat, before leaning forward, a concerned expression on her face. “Do excuse me if I overstep but…” she bites her lip and Crowley does his best to keep his expression perfectly casual. “You really haven’t moved on, Anthony. And it seems to me, you’re not terribly inclined to do so.”

Crowley huffs. “I’m not interested in another relationship.”

“That’s not what I meant,” the woman argues calmly. “See, when I first left my ex-- I kept mentioning him and remembering things and while I knew leaving had been the right-- the only, really-- choice, I spent an awful lot of time thinking about him. Because it’s just natural, when someone is a big part of your life for a long time, it’s not like you can simply… erase their presence. But eventually I started… I rarely think about him nowadays. And I certainly don’t do it with _fondness_.” She scrunches her nose and Crowley smiles a little, shaking his head.

“I think it might just be too soon,” he murmurs, not looking at his companion.

“It’s been six years,” Marcia argues.

Which is nothing, when you consider he and Aziraphale have known each other for millenia. Hell, they’ve gone far longer without seeing each other, but it’s not like he can explain that to a mortal, can he? “We’ve known each other for far too long,” he replies softly, eyes fixed on the table. “I can’t-- it’s just-- he’s always been there, you know? Everything else… everyone else… they come and go, but Aziraphale has always been a constant in my life.” He does not wish to discuss the subject, in all truth, but he finds it strangely easy to be honest with Marcia. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s so desperately lonely, maybe it’s the fact he’s come to trust her after all she has helped him with Eve. Maybe it’s just something about her. “And what I felt for him-- a hundred millenia won’t be enough to forget that.”

Marcia pursues her lips, unhappily. “Have you considered-- As I understand it, because boy, are you cryptic, you really didn’t talk to him before leaving. Have you considered that, maybe if you talk to him--”

Crowley shakes his head. It’s an useless exercise, particularly so soon after the whole debacle of the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t. Aziraphale might have been happy siding up with him when their demise seemed unavoidable but now that he’s seemingly back in Heaven’s good books… well, the angel has always found it too easy to pretend he does belong on Heaven’s side.

And maybe he does. Maybe Crowley just insists on _their side_ because he doesn’t belong in Hell’s.

“Maybe someday,” he concedes finally, because he does know he’ll never be able to stay away from Aziraphale _definitely,_ but for now the distance might be for the best.

Besides, he has Eve to think of.

Yeah, that could turn all kinds of nasty. Better to stay away, at least for the time being.

* * *

 

“Dad?” Eve asks, just as Crowley has finished reading her goodnight’s story and is starting to stand up. He sits down immediately, sensing the nervous edge on the girl’s voice and grows increasingly worried after seeing her fearful expression.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks, honestly concerned, sliding closer to her, ready to gather her in his arms. He’s not very good at dealing with emotions, really, but he’s learned that hugs seem to work magic in little humans. “Did something happen?”

Eve bites her lip, staring at her hands clasped over her lap. Something is clearly bothering her and Crowley finds it doubly troubling the fact that she hadn’t said anything earlier; so far it’s been a perfectly ordinary day all in all. He took her to school, waited for Marcia to drop her back, they had supper and she made her homework, not once mentioning something might be amiss. And his little girl is terrible at both lying and keeping secrets, so all in all-- it’s very very worrisome.

“Eve?” he prompts once more, anger already simmering. Whoever dared to upset his little girl will be in the deep trouble, he’ll see to it. He thought he had been quite through in his efforts to make sure the town was a good place to raise a child (nothing to drastic, mind. But the more… questionable characters suddenly remembered their long lost wish of doing something else, _somewhere else_ and had promptly relocated) but apparently, he was mistaken.

“I-- we’ve been talking about families, in school,” Eve begins finally and Crowley’s frown deepens. Ms. Grey, Eve’s teacher, had seemed a perfectly amicable person to him, very smart and open-minded, surprisingly good with children. “We… umm… Ms. Grey said there are all types of families. Some with a mommy and a daddy, or two dads or two moms or just one parent or even no parents and just uncles and aunts and grandparents.” Crowley nods, trying to keep his expression neutral. So far, nothing seems terribly troubling, but why does his little girl seem so upset? “But I-- I was just wondering… do I… what happened to my mom?”

Oh godness. He knew this conversation was bound to happen one day, but he was thoroughly unprepared for it. “I… you see love, what you have to understand is… umm…” oh god, why is this so difficult? He could tell her the truth, of course, but that’s just too harsh, isn’t it? She’s so young and innocent and telling her the truth would accomplish nothing but hurting her. “Your mom… well, she just wasn’t ready to be a mom.”

There. That’s probably true enough, isn’t it?

“But why?” Eve insists, grabbing his arm, eyes wide and full of tears. Good Lord, what did he do to deserve this? “Didn’t she love me? Didn’t she love you?”

Oh, right, probably better to clarify that. “Your mom and I didn’t really know each other, love.” _Or at all,_ he thinks. “We weren’t-- not all parents are together when they have children. And so she-- well, she wasn’t ready for it, so she left you with me.” Which is _kind of_ true. Someday he might explain what really happened, but it doesn’t really seem like the sort of thing a child needs to know. Besides, as far as Crowley is concerned, he’s Eve’s real father and that’s the end of it.

But Eve looks far from convinced and so he sighs, wondering what else he can say. “The thing is-- I can’t tell you what she felt, love. But I think-- I think she was scared,” he runs his fingers through her hair in what he hopes it’s a soothing motion and Eve relaxes a little, resting her head against him. “Loving someone can be very scary business.”

Eve huffs, unconvinced. “I love you,” she declares sternly and Crowley’s heart does a little flutter. “I don’t find it scary at all. Do you?”

Crowley smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you too, dear. And I do find it a bit scary.” Eve turns to him, eyes very wide, looking slightly worried so he hurries to carry on. “Loving someone… well, there are just too many things out of your control. It’s trusting someone not to hurt you and being incapable of doing anything if they do.”

Eve is looking at him all funny, trying to make sense of his words. That’s the marvel of children, really: it never occurs them that the people they love could ever hurt them. But the world is cruel and humans learn that lesson sooner or later: hurt usually comes from the most unexpected sources.

“Anyway,” he says after a brief pause, pressing another kiss to the top of Eve’s head, standing up and heading for the door. “It’s time to sleep, young lady. Goodnight.”

“Dad,” Eve stops him once again and Crowley hums, turning to her once more. “Do you… do you think you’ll ever find me a mom?”

Crowley nearly chokes with his own saliva. “Doubtful, dear.”

“What about Az--”

“Don’t,” Crowley interrupts, much more sharply than he intended and regrets it immediately, seeing Eve’s upset expression. “Some things, darling, are simply not meant to be. And loving someone also means knowing when you’re not the one for them.”

Eve huffs. “You always say that when you want something, you fight for it.”

Crowley’s lips curve upwards briefly. Some battles are lost before they even start, but he doesn’t think telling Eve that is a good idea. “You’re right, love. You’re so much smarter than I.”

Eve beams proudly, rearranging herself in bed, pulling her favorite plush toy (a stuffed pink snake) close. “And don’t you forget,” she says proudly, prompting a chuckle from Crowley. “Goodnight daddy.”

“Goodnight,” Crowley replies, turning off the lights and closing the door softly after him.

Well. That went well, didn’t it?

* * *

 

Crowley sits outside the house, gazing at the stars, lazily drinking wine straight out of the bottle. He’d be the talk of the town tomorrow if someone saw him, he knows, but the street has remained miraculously empty ever since he came out.

He toys with his folded lenses absentmindedly, twirling them every now and then. He had never really hidden his eyes from Eve, so when she was old enough to start asking questions, that had been one of the first ones: why did he use dark lenses when there was other people around?

He had explained his eyes were a little weird, which usually unnerved people and while Eve had claimed it was silly because his eyes were interesting, she had promptly forgotten all about the subject, but Crowley hadn’t. As with many other things, he had been telling her a half-truth: yes, he does it for the humans’ comfort, but it’s also a form of protection. People say the eyes are the windows of the soul and they’re not entirely mistaken: eyes can give so many things away and hiding them seems like a perfectly logical, _sensible_ thing to do.

Right now however, he does not wish to hide, especially not from himself. His conversation with Eve got him thinking, as they tend to do. Love, he’s always know, it’s a scary emotion. It’s also a emotion demons like himself aren’t supposed to be capable of feeling and yet he does, with an intensity that surpases humans’ understanding.

 _Angels’ understanding too_ , he thinks miserably, taking another sip of his drink. 

In the background, he can hear music filtering from the living room. His electronics still tend to do as they please, turning on and off at random moments, although thankfully there hasn’t been any communication from Hell, not since his and Aziraphale’s little stunt.

Hell does not forgive and it certainly does not forget, but when something embarrassing happens, they do tend to pretend it never actually did. That’s the official policy when it comes to the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t and Crowley’s involvement in it. There’s been nothing but silence for the last seven years and he doubts that’ll ever change.

Heaven however… well. They like to pretend they’re full of mercy, so of course Aziraphale has been officially pardoned even if some conditions for said pardon were put in place. As usual, both he and Aziraphale worked their way around said conditions, but Crowley would be lying if he said the pardon hadn’t changed things between them.

For a little while, he had had hope. For a little while, he had dared to imagine Aziraphale might feel the same way. For a little while, he allowed himself to dream of the angel feeling the same way and being brave enough to at least let Crowley know as much.

Love _is_ scary business. And for the longest time, Crowley had held onto the hope that that was what was stopping Aziraphale. But even if that hadn’t the case… well. Just because it would have been unrequited, it wouldn’t have made his love any less true.

 _Lord, somebody (somebody), ooh somebody/ (Please) can anybody find me somebody to love?_ Freddie Mercury’s voice croons in the background and Crowley snorts, miracling another bottle into existence after noticing he’s finished the one he’s drinking. “No need for that,” he murmurs sourly to himself. “Did that well enough on my own, didn’t I?” he adds bitterly, nearly finishing the bottle in one long gulp.

He rests his head against the back of the chair, closing his eyes, allowing the alcohol in his bloodstream to truly numb his senses. He can’t remember the last time he got properly drunk and that’s all as well, he supposes. Even if he can sober up with a thought, he wouldn’t want to worry Eve.

He smiles a little at the thought. She has certainly done him a world of good and while he can not imagine what could have prompted her mother to abandon her, he does imagine there was some degree of fear in there. It’s terrifying loving someone so utterly that there’s not a single thing more important in this world than their happiness and he imagines one does need a particular frame of mind to be willing to love someone like that. 

“We’re fine,” he tells no one in particular, eyes fixed on the night sky. “Life’s good.”

Not perfect, but good. The world is still spinning and that counts for something, doesn’t it?

It could be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> Inside my head, Eve and Crowley’s conversation was much more significant and dramatic, but I’m not entirely sure it worked out when I finally wrote it down. It serves its purpose, I think, but it turned a bit less philosophical than I originally planned (then again, Eve is 6 so I should probably cut myself some slack :P)  
> Fun fact! In the original version, Eve was going to be 3 when Aziraphale showed up, mostly because my daughter was around 3 at the time and so I thought giving them similar ages would be a good idea since it’d help me figure out normal 3-year-old’s reactions. Now she’s 6 though, hence why Eve is a little older ;)  
> So next chapter we’re finally seeing Aziraphale’s POV. That should be fun, right? :P And I swear one day we'll get the full story on how Crowley's and Aziraphale's last conversation went. I guess it's pretty confusing at this point, isn't it? :P  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	4. A divine mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I managed to finish this chapter on friday and decided to carry on with writing on saturday instead of editing, so next chapter is nearly done now too, but I think it’ll undergo quite a bit of editing since there are a couple details I need to work on. That’s the problem with using actual towns: you need to do research :P  
> Anyway, in the meantime… we finally get to see what Aziraphale has been up to, so, enjoy!

Aziraphale smooths down the imaginary wrinkles from his coat for what feels like the hundredth time, staring at his reflection on the mirror while he chews his lip nervously. He’s being ridiculous, he knows: vanity is, after all, a form of pride and so it’s not like anyone up there will care how he looks.

Or they _ shouldn’t _ care, but that’s not entirely true, is it?

He sighs, taking a deep breath in an effort to ease his nerves. He looks in the direction of the phone guiltily, thinking of how a short call would do actual wonders for his nerves, but also knowing it’s an useless exercise: Crowley hasn’t answered his phone calls in the last seven years and the likelihood of him picking up  _ now  _ is close to zero.

And yet--

He’s still a bit confused on what exactly went wrong between them. Things had been going well (more than well even) after the averted Apocalypse and then-- then--

_ Now is not the time for that,  _ he chides himself, looking away from the phone purposely. He has bigger concerns that whatever imagined crime he commited. Crowley will come around on his own time; he always does.

And Aziraphale… Aziraphale just needs to be patient. Sooner or later, he and Crowley will be reunited and maybe they’ll talk about whatever bothered Crowley in the first place or maybe they’ll pretend it never happened, like they’ve done a thousand times before.

Or maybe Aziraphale will run into a bit of trouble and Crowley will come save him like he’s done a hundred times before. Whatever happens first.

But right now-- right now he has a meeting with Heaven.

And he has no time to waste.

* * *

 

Heaven’s radio silence had lasted far less than what Aziraphale had expected. After watching him not-burn in hellfire, he’d have thought his superiors would have been a little more wary of even talking to him, but of course Gabriel’s pride had triumphed over common sense; he had seemed determined to prove he wasn’t even a tiny bit scared of him and so he had quickly sweeped the incident under the rug and called Aziraphale back for a minimal reprimand, along with an offer to put  _ all that nasty business with the AntiChrist behind. _

Sometimes Aziraphale wonders if he did the right thing by accepting the  _ pardon  _ and the conditions issued for it. He can’t help wondering if that’s why Crowley left, although the demon hadn’t seemed upset when Aziraphale first told him about it. But maybe-- maybe--

Well. That’s not here not there.

In any case, he’s now back in Heaven’s good books and back to his usual work. He gets the occasional visit from Gabriel, he reports back to him about whichever good deeds he performs and both secretly (or not so secretly) dislike each other.

Today though… today he received a  _ summon.  _ That doesn’t bode particularly well for the future, Aziraphale doesn’t think, but it’s not like he could refuse, so here he is, standing at what passes as Heaven’s reception, looking around nervously.

“Aziraphale,” a familiar voice booms behind him and the angel plasters a perfectly fake but polite smile on his face before turning to face Gabriel, but his smile falters quickly after noticing Uriel and Michael behind him, a dark look in all their faces.

Well. This definitely doesn’t bode well for the future. “This is quite the reception!” Aziraphale exclaims, full of false cheer. “It’s nice to see you all again.”

Michael’s lips curve into an sneer and while Uriel’s face remains perfectly placid, there’s something dark burning in her eyes. Gabriel raises a hand to stop the other Archangels from saying anything though, something which just seems to annoy Michael further.

“Follow us, Principality Aziraphale,” Gabriel orders formally, tone clipped, turning onto his heel sharply. His companions follow his lead, trailing after him and Aziraphale has no choice but follow too, dread filling his veins.

This can’t be good, not at all.

The Archangels are leading him towards a side of Heaven Aziraphale isn’t familiar with. Crowley had said all Heaven looked pretty much the same, so he couldn’t tell Aziraphale where exactly they had taken him when he was pretending to be Aziraphale and the angel briefly wonders if they’re taking him back to the same spot. Maybe they’ve decided to give Hellfire another try, see how well he fares a second time.

The idea fills him with panic; what if Heaven has figured out what really happened that day? The thought is simply terrifying and not just for what it would mean for Aziraphale: if Heaven knows the truth, it means Hell does too and that means… that means…

What if Crowley’s absence isn’t due the demon being annoyed at him, but because something actually happened to him? Aziraphale had gone to his flat all those years ago, looking for him and found it empty, a  _ for sale  _ sign on the window. He had thought the demon simply needed a little distance for whatever the reason but now-- now--

But if Heaven has known all along, it makes little sense they’re just punishing him  _ now.  _ Heaven does not play the long game, Gabriel certainly doesn’t have the patience for it. Which means that if they do know the truth now, they’ve just found out and if that’s the case--

If that’s the case he can only hope Crowley is so well hidden that not even Hell will find him.

He takes a deep breath, willing himself not to let his panic show on his face. It won’t do to give the Archangels the satisfaction of watching him shiver in fear; if he’s going down, he’s going down with his head held high.

They finally come to a stop outside what looks like a very fancy office. Outside it there’s a very nice looking desk and behind it--

Oh, crap.

The Metatron looks up from the computer’s screen, barely glancing at the Archangels before their eyes land on Aziraphale, their expression going all funny. They look like someone who’s very  _ very _ curious about something and they’re trying their best to look like they couldn’t care less, all the while being angry at themselves for being curious in the first place. They stands up abruptly, their lips a very thin line as they turn to adress Gabriel.

“You weren’t asked to come along,” they deadpan darkly. “We asked you--”

“Well, you didn’t say we  _ couldn’t  _ come along either,” Gabriel argues, annoyance clear in his tone. “And I didn’t bring Sandalphon along so-- I’d call that a compromise. Now, spill. What’s going on?”

The Metatron glares, but seems disinclined to argue. They turn to look at Aziraphale once more, lips curved into a sneer. “We do not know,” they say, watching Aziraphale through narrowed eyes. “She did not tell us.”

“But you are Her voice,” Michael argues, stepping forward. “How will the Principality know what She wants from him if you won’t tell him?”

Aziraphale can feel his veins filling with dread and hope simultaneously. Whatever is going on is BIG, but no one seems entirely sure on what exactly is going on, so maybe--

The Metatron opens their mouth to speak, but before they can the office’s doors open ominously and a voice comes from inside. “Principality Aziraphale, come on in,” Her  _ actual _ voice booms from within, sending a shiver running down everyone’s back.

Oh, this is bad. Real bad.

Aziraphale looks in the direction of the Archangels’ for directions, but the other angels seem frozen in the spot, just as confused and terrified as himself. The Metatron is looking at him still, a foreboding expression on their face. “Well, didn’t you hear?” they demand annoyedly, glacing in the direction of the open doors briefly. “On you go.”

He gulps nervously, but ultimately does as he’s been told. He steps into the office, the door closing after him without making any noise and Aziraphale closes his eyes in an effort to gather his thoughts before coming face to face with his Creator once more.

His last thought before opening his eyes and facing his fate is wishing he had spoken to Crowley at least one last time.

* * *

 

“Do not fear, my child,” She says when Aziraphale finally opens his eyes once more. She sits behind a heavily adorned desk, overflowing with papers and small human trinkets. She both tall and short, old and young, thin and heavy, skin as white as snow and as dark as the night sky. That’s the main reason why humans can’t exactly  _ see _ Her: she’s like every other man and woman on earth and yet completely different, so many things at once that human brains have trouble keeping up with the changing forms. “Come forward, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale straightens up, taking another deep breath before doing as he’s bid. He does not need to be afraid, he reminds himself: God’s plan is ineffable and whatever happens now was always meant to be.

And he does trust the Ineffable Plan. He might no longer trust Heaven or his superiors fully, but he does trust She has a plan.

“Sit down, Aziraphale,” she commands gently, expression perfectly placid and Aziraphale obeys, his unnecessary heart hammering inside his chest. Funny thing, this human vessels, so used to performing their bodily functions that they forget they don’t actually need to.

“Love,” She begins suddenly, startling Aziraphale a little, “is sacred in all its forms.” She makes a pause, as if expecting something and while feeling deeply out of his deep, Aziraphale hurries to agree.

“Of course, Lord,” he agrees, looking around, wondering what this is about.

She narrows her eyes, as if reading into his very soul and Aziraphale squirms a little. “Most of my children seem to have forgotten long ago,” She continues after a bit, tone full of sadness. “Have you forgotten too, Aziraphale?”

“No, no, of course not! I mean-- I do-- I love all your creations, Lord.”

She smiles, or perhaps it’s a smirk, her eyes shining. “Love them enough to risk permanent destruction,” She says softly. “Lucky you found Agnes’ prophecy, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale’s blood runs cold, but She dismisses his worries with a vague wave of her hand. “The Ineffable Plan is ineffable,” She says calmly. “Everything happens for a reason, some clearer than others.” She stands up, coming to lean on the other side of the desk, now much closer to Aziraphale. “I admit that in the past… I strayed a little from it. I was too quick to anger,” She scrunches her nose, looking away. “But things have changed.”

Aziraphale nods, because he’s not sure what else he can possibly do or say. She stares at him with an indecipherable expression, before pushing Herself off the desk, starting to pace around Aziraphale, much to his terror. “You’d think averting the Apocalypse would have required a bit more of effort, but as usual pieces fell into their rightful place at the right time. This, however, seems like it’ll need a more hands on approach. Not exactly part of the Ineffable plan, is it?”

Aziraphale tenses, remembering his frantic attempts to contact Her back when the Apocalypse was about to start. She couldn’t be bothered then but _ that  _ seems to have been going according to plan and  _ this _ , whatever it is, isn’t. 

He’s not sure how to feel about that.

“Although it has a long time coming, the pieces refuse to fall in place.” She looks away, a far off expression on her face. “That is, of course, the problem with  _ free will; _ some things aren’t part of plan, but wouldn’t it be lovely if they came to pass?” She nods to herself, decisive. “I have a mission for you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale sits up even straighter. A mission? For him? “Lord, are you sure--?”

“I am,” She declares, looking straight at him. “I trust you, Aziraphale.”

He gulps.  _ She trusts him.  _ After everything, it feels like too much. After going against every instruction coming from Heaven, after defying his superiors in such way, after fraternizing and plotting with the enemy--

“I’ll do my best, Lord,” he promises solemnly, cutting that last troubling thought short. Now is not the time to be thinking about Crowley.

She nods, smiling softly. “Your mission, Aziraphale, is to go to Helmsley.”

Aziraphale waits patiently, but She does not continue. He frowns, puzzled. “Go to Helmsley and do what, Lord?”

She smiles mysteriously, turning her back to him. “Oh, you’ll know. When you get there, you’ll know.”

Aziraphale has to hold back his urge to snort.

God works in mysterious ways, indeed.

* * *

 

Aziraphale’s first thought after arriving back at his bookshop is to call Crowley.

His second one is remembering  _ why _ he can’t do that.

His third one is reminding himself the reason why he can’t do that is because a mission from God Herself is a pretty big deal and he shouldn’t be going around revealing such information to his  _ enemy  _ and not because said  _ enemy  _ is nowhere to be found.

He bites his lip, considering. This whole mission is more than a little puzzling and not only because She was so cryptic about it. When he left the office, he expected to find the Archangels waiting outside, demanding he’ll tell them what it was all about, but he only found the Metatron outside, who had coldly dismissed him with a vaguely envious expression on their face.

Sooner or later, he knows Gabriel is bound to drop by and that worries him a little. How do you go explaining that while you were given a mission by God Herself, you actually have no clear idea of what She wants from you?

But that’s a problem for another day, he supposes.

He looks in the direction of the phone once more, his stomach twisting unpleasantly. Oh, what he’d give to talk to Crowley; even if the demon probably wouldn’t shed any light on his particular problem, at least he’d help Aziraphale relax a little. There’s no denying he’s worried,  _ terrified even _ , fearful he’ll be found lacking and finally cast out of Heaven.

_ It’ll be fine,  _ he tells himself, heading for what passes as his room to pack. All he has to do now is go to Helmsley and wait; hopefully once he’s there he’ll be struck with a bit of divine inspiration and things will work out fine.

**_Went to Helmsley,_ ** he scribbles down just before leaving, intending to leave a note on top of the counter, in case Crowley happens to drop by someday. He wouldn’t want to worry the demon, not when it can be helped.  **_Please come, if you can_ ** , he writes down and then hurries to erase it. 

No, he has a mission. An important mission. And having Crowley around would only complicate matters.

_ It’s not like the demon is going to show up anytime soon _ , he tells himself, turning sharply on his heel and leaving the bookstore, not looking back. Once he’s done with whatever She wants him to do, he thinks he ought to go looking for Crowley, just to make sure he’s alright, but that’s something for later.

For now… for now he has more pressing matters to attend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course God ships it. How could She not? :P   
> I hope you enjoyed it. I feel it’s a bit all over the place but so are Aziraphale’s thoughts. Poor thing is a little confused and as we’ll continue to see, that played a main role on his disagreement with Crowley and what came after. Hopefully, as we go along, we’ll get more light on what exactly happened.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Hopefully the next chapter won’t take horribly long; in the meantime, let me know what you thought!


	5. Welcome to Helmsley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! This week has been very slow at work, so I’ve got the chance to write a lot, but the next update it’s likely to take a bit since I’m taking a few days off and I rarely get to write when I’m at home :(  
> But that’s a problem for another day :P For now, enjoy!

Helmsley is a small picturesque town, where everyone seems to be  _ nice. _ It seems a little too perfect, everyone a little too kind and friendly, reminding Aziraphale of those horror movies where everyone in town is part of some obscure cult and they are just trying to lull the newcomers into a false sense of security before murdering them in their sleep.

Catching up with pop culture by watching horror movies might have been a bad idea, in retrospective.

But people in Helmsley seem genuinely nice, eager to help and so he soon finds himself a nice flat to stay in and a convenient cover too: apparently, the school’s librarian retired a few weeks ago and his new renter, who also happens to be the school’s Headmistress, happily offered him the job after he mentioned something about his previous occupation.

“I do hope you’ll find everything to your liking, Mr. Fell,” Ms. Mills ( _ Emma, please _ ) tells him, letting him roam around the tiny flat. She’s a bit too young to be a Headmistress, Aziraphale thinks, but given how few people actually live in Helmsley he supposes it’s not that surprising. “It’s small and a bit dusty, but very homie, don’t you agree?”

Aziraphale, who’s thinking of his own small flat above his bookstore does agree. He smiles, nodding. “Thank you, Emma. I’m certain I’ll be fine here.”

Yes, he’s certain of that.

* * *

 

He had hoped that after arriving at Helmsley he would figure out the reason for his presence, but so far he’s been disappointed: there’s nothing out of the ordinary in this small and friendly town, nothing other than how  _ nice _ it is. There’s not even the smallest sign of disquiet; as far as he can see everyone gets along just fine.

But there must be a reason why She sent him here. He supposes he’ll figure it out sooner or later, even if the longer it takes the more worried he becomes. But if time was the essence, he supposes She would have been a little less cryptic, wouldn’t She?

In the meantime, he entertains himself with his newfound role as school’s librarian. The library is rather small, in truth and its collection consists mostly of children books with a few scientific ones, but they’re well cared for and most are well loved. Aziraphale has always thought it amazing, how love seems to stick to books, someone’s appreciation for a story transpiring from the item itself.

It’s quiet in here, truth to be told. Most of the student body doesn’t seem to bother with the library much, he mostly gets the younger children, those who are just beginning to read mostly. They come on their own or in little groups and they always behave politely, listening to Aziraphale’s instructions and never causing any trouble.

Today he has a group visiting. Ms Grey, the group’s teacher is explaining her students how the library actually works, the small children gathered around her, listening avidly. She’s a kindhearted woman, someone who obviously loves her job and Aziraphale finds himself enraptured by her explanation too, basic as it might be. The children are a little over six, after all, so she keeps her explanation simple and her tone gentle and soothing.

Distracted as he is, it takes Aziraphale a little while to notice one of the children has scurried away. Ms. Grey seems to notice at the same time, but she doesn’t seem particularly worried, carrying on with her explanation as if nothing is amiss. Aziraphale frowns, wondering if that’s wise and finally decides it might be for the best if he goes looking for the wandering child himself.

He finds his target soon enough, a young girl sitting by the fantasy section. She has picked out a book and has it open on her lap, her fingers following the words as she goes, a look of deep concentration on her face as she reads.

“Hello there,” Aziraphale greets, kneeling down. The girl looks up, a tiny bit startled but not particularly concerned for having been caught away from her group. “Why aren’t you with Ms. Grey?”

She shrugs non committedly, closing her book. “I was bored,” she explains. “I already know what Ms. Grey is explaining.”

Aziraphale hums, uncertain what he can possibly say. On one hand, one shouldn’t encourage disobedience, but it’s not like the girl is actually misbehaving, so… “Have you been to the library many times before?” he asks gently and the girl shrugs once more.

“It wasn’t very big when I started school,” she tells him. “Dad has donated a lot of the books here, you know?”

“That’s very generous of him,” Aziraphale replies with a smile. “Does he like reading a lot?”

The girl shakes her head, her curls tumbling all over her face, making her look quite adorable. “Daddy doesn’t like books,” she replies. “He reads to me every night, but he does not like books. Reading reminds him of someone.” She scrunches her nose, thinking about something very hard. “How is that possible, anyway?”

“He must have been close to someone who read a lot,” Aziraphale replies. Someone very special, if he developed an aversion to books and yet insists on reading to the girl and donating to the school’s library. “You like reading, then?”

The girl’s face lights up immediately, nodding enthusiastically. “I’m just learning to,” she clarifies, puffing out her chest. “Ms. Grey says I’m the quickest learner she’s ever had.”

Aziraphale smiles, the girl’s cheerful demeanor contagious. “Well then, you’re more than welcome to visit anytime you like,” he tells her. “I can even help you pick some books, if you tell me what you like.” That’s probably a too ambitious promise: after all, Aziraphale’s knowledge of children literature isn’t exactly update, but it can be a learning experience, can’t it? And encouraging a reading habit is a good thing, right? 

“That’d be great!” the girl exclaims cheerfully. “I always have to wait for Auntie Marcia to be done with her classes anyway, so I could come after clases. I’ll ask Juliet to join me!” she does seem genuinely charmed by the idea and Aziraphale grins. It’s always nice to find a fellow book enthusiast, especially when they’re not trying to buy his precious books. “Thank you, Mr.--?”

“Oh, I’m Ezra Fell. I’m the new librarian,” he introduces himself, thinking he really should have done that much earlier.

“Pleased to meet you,” she replies politely. “I’m Eve.”

Aziraphale can’t help to smile, suddenly reminded of another Eve.  She does look a little familiar, now that he thinks about it. She has the same air of endless curiosity, at the very least.

“Well, Ms. Eve, my offer stands but you really should get back to Ms. Grey before she starts worrying, huh?” he says, standing up and offering his hand to the girl to help her up. 

“She knows I tend to disappear on her,” Eve replies with another careless shrug. “My dad says I have a healthy disregard for authority.”

Aziraphale does not believe there’s such a thing as a healthy disregard for authority, but then he remembers he attempted to stop the Apocalypse with a demon by his side and promptly decides against commenting. Besides, by her tone alone it’s easy to see the girl adores her father and it won’t do to tarnish his image, will it?

So he doesn’t say anything and simply delivers the girl back to her group with the promise of seeing her very soon.

Aziraphale does not know it yet, but he has just found the first piece of the puzzle of his mission in Helmsley.

* * *

 

“Ah, you’ve met our resident troublemaker, I see,” Emma says, making Aziraphale look up from the book he’s showing Eve. The girl sends a winning smile in the headmistress’ direction, who arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class, young lady?”

Eve’s innocent face isn’t really fooling anyone and Aziraphale notices it’s way too early for the classes to be over. He should have noticed sooner, really, but he was so excited to show Eve the book he had just found--

“Sorry, Ms. Mills,” the girl says, standing up, not looking one bit sorry. Emma rolls her eyes, ruffling her hair affectionately. 

“Off you go, young miss. I’ll call your father next time!” she warns as Eve hurries out of the library, throwing one last smile in their direction before the door closes after her. “Not that he’ll do anything,” she adds softly, a fond smile on her lips. “He’s a nice man and a wonderful father, but he has his own ideas about authority.”

“He’s a bit of the library’s patron, Eve tells me,” Aziraphale says, struggling to get back on his feet. He shouldn’t be affected by age, seeing he’s not human and yet his human corporation seems to do as it pleases, not as it’s supposed to. 

“Oh, yes,” Emma agrees. “We’re a small school in a small town. We don’t get that much funding, but Anthony-- he’s been very generous ever since Eve started school. A bit sooner, even, since he’s friends with Marcia. You know Marcia, right?”

“Your assistant,” he says, nodding. “Haven’t talked much really, but yes.”

Emma hums. “A bit of a mysterious fellow, Anthony. Not terribly social, although everyone here knows him and I doubt anyone will tell you a bad thing about him. It helps that he’s obviously dedicated to Eve and that she’s such a doll.” She smiles distractedly, glancing in the direction Eve disappeared. “Funny you haven’t met him.”

“Well, I do spend a lot of my time at the library,” Aziraphale points out good naturedly and the woman looks at him, a contemplative expression on her face.

“You do,” she agrees, with that tone that suggest there’s so much more she isn’t saying. Aziraphale frowns, wondering what she’s thinking before quickly deciding he doesn’t really want to know.

“Was there anything you needed, Emma?”

She seems to snap back to reality at that. “Not really, no. I was just wondering how are you adapting.” She smiles, looking around. “Like a fish in the water, I see. You’ve rearranged everything, haven’t you?”

Aziraphale blushes a little. He’s too used to his own filing system, even if it’s not the official one. “I can guarantee I know where everything is, even if it looks a bit… messy.”

“In usage, I’d call it,” Emma says. “It looked terribly-- organized. Lifeless.” Aziraphale smiles, glad the Headmistress doesn’t seem to mind his oddities. “As long as you can help the students find what they need to find… I don’t particularly mind. Not that they use the library much, of course.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Anyway, glad to see you’re doing fine.” She looks in the direction of the door once more, another fond smile coming to her lips. “I should have warned you about Eve sooner, though. Careful or she’ll worm her way into your heart and you won’t be able to deny her anything.” Her smile is soft and affectionate and after catching sight of Aziraphale’s matching smile she chuckles. “Too late for that, is it?”

In lieu of an answer, Aziraphale smiles.

* * *

 

It’s easy to get lost in the routine, the real reason behind his presence in Helmsley soon fading to the back of his mind. He’s no closer to discovering what his divine mission is, but he’s happy to go through the days without any particular concern. He’s happy enough surrounded by books, with the very occasional visit of the school children and/or some of the teachers.

He’s not completely happy though, if he must be honest. He thought he had got used to this quiet longing, this aching feeling deep in his gut. But he’s lonely, there’s no denying that and the more time it passes, the harder it gets to ignore, particularly when surrounded by so much love: Helmsley radiates love, in a similar manner than Tadfield did and it’s slowly but surely driving him mad with  _ want _ .

He pulls out his mobile, a model so old it should have stopped working a lifetime ago but that clings to existence by sheer angelic will. It was a gift from Crowley, back when they first appeared and it only has two numbers in it: the one to Crowley’s flat (which Aziraphale had memorize and so the one he used to call from the shop) and Crowley’s own mobile.

_ He needs time,  _ he tells himself, pocketing it back.  _ Whatever’s bothering him, he needs time to figure it out. _

_ But how much time _ , he wonders.

* * *

 

For the most part, Aziraphale doesn’t sleep.

This is partially out of personal preference: it’s not like he needs it and he never really understood the appeal. Laying down with your eyes closed, not moving, seems so silly and it also has the downside of leaving you completely vulnerable to any form of attack (not that he expects to get attacked, but still). Waking up is an unpleasant business too; afterwards he always ends up feeling groggy and perhaps also a bit annoyed at everything and nothing at the same time.

None of those however, are the main reason why Aziraphale doesn’t sleep.

No, if Aziraphale was to be honest with himself (something he rarely is, actually), the main reason behind his reluctance to sleep is the Dream.

It’s not technically the same dream, but they’re so similar that he believes it deserves to be capitalized. He doesn’t always dream when he sleeps, but he does it often enough for him to wish to avoid it as much as possible.

The Dream always begins differently, but it always starts with a memory. Always a pleasant one too and that’s why Aziraphale usually lets it continue unperturbed. By now you’d think he’d know better and that at the slightest hint of the Dream, he’d be forcing himself to wake up, but the memories are so pleasant and the feelings they awaken in him so lovely that he lingers for too long and by the time he attempts to wake up it’s too late; he’s too caught up with the Dream to do so.

The memories themselves are indeed quite lovely: a quiet conversation at the backstore, a lovely stroll through St. James, a delicious lunch at Paris. And of course, as of late, a nice dinner after the not-quite End of the Days.

It doesn’t really matter how it begins, for it always ends the same. With Crowley beneath him, kissing him passionately and earnestly, their passion so overwhelming that Aziraphale doesn’t notice at first, but the demon keeps on pulling him down with him, down and down until Aziraphale realizes they’re  _ falling _ and then Crowley will disappear before they hit the ground.

Aziraphale will wake up then, heart beating erratically, sweating profusely (although neither are actual body functions his body needs to perform), terrified out of his mind. He’ll then toss and turn for the longest time, trying in vain to calm down and finally he’ll stroll out of his bedroom, searching for something to distract himself.

He does not sleep, because he knows he won’t get any rest that way.

It’s not the  _ nature  _ of the dream what disturbs him so, not really. Sex is just another bodily function, one humans find terribly compelling and which Aziraphale himself doesn’t really dislike per se. Humanity has rubbed onto him and considering the  _ connection  _ he shares with Crowley, their  _ history  _ together… well. It’s not terribly surprising, is it? After all, he does care for Crowley, and, objectively speaking, he’s attractive. It wouldn’t be terribly disturbing, if that was all there was to the Dream. 

But that’s not just it, is it? 

 The sensation of  _ falling… _ that’s what unnerves him so. He knows on some level Crowley would never actually deliberately try to hurt him; he’s proved over and over again that he does care, in his own non-traditional way. But-- but--

And there’s of course the little matter of  _ his feelings.  _ The feelings he refuses to acknowledge, the feelings he’s done his best to pretend they don’t exist. He finds the fall disturbing, yes, but the intensity of his emotions pre-fall… that’s just too much to bear. 

Aziraphale pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering why tonight of all nights he allowed himself to fall asleep. He has no time to waste on silly dreams, certainly not time to waste on trying to figure out the mess his emotions seem to be. He’s been in Helmsley for a little over a month and he’s still no closer to the answer of why She sent him here. He has work to do, a very important mission, given by God Herself and now is not the time to be thinking about his relationship with a certain demon. A certain demon who’s been missing for a little over 7 years, let’s not forget.

Oh, he misses him so. He can admit that much, he supposes.

Dangerous as the thought might be, he can admit as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I wonder if the last scene feels a little disjointed from the rest of the chapter. It’s in a bit of a different tone, I get the feeling, but I wasn’t sure how to change it and I wanted to write it now, since of course it’ll have implications later on :P I know you’re all dying for Aziraphale and Crowley to meet again and they will in the next chapter, once I figure out how I want to go about it.  
> Also, I’m hoping the fact that no one has clued in who Aziraphale is makes some amount of sense :P   
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	6. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It didn’t quite turn out as I intended… but I like it, I must say :P I hope you’ll like it too!

“Emma’s trying to set you up.”

Aziraphale blinks, his mouth opening and closing several times as he tries to come up with a response. Marcia looks thoroughly amused, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m sorry my dear girl, I’m afraid I don’t understand--” he finally manages to begin and the woman rolls her eyes good naturedly.

“Emma is… Well. She’s a great boss and a great Headmistress and a relatively good judge of character,” Marcia interrupts him. “And she also firmly believes it’s her God’s given mission to set everyone up with someone. A little matchmaker, she is. Has always been, actually.”

Aziraphale blinks once more, processing the words. “Surely-- I mean--”

“She’s good at it too,” Marcia adds, a far away look on her face. “Most of the time, anyway. She has a 90% ratio of success, give or take.” She taps her fingers on the desk, considering. “She’s wrong on this particular case, though.”

Aziraphale doesn’t say a word, still trying to figure out how exactly this conversation came to pass. It’s just… well. Lately, it seems that every conversation with Emma ends up including a mention of Eve’s father. _Anthony this or Anthony that_ and Aziraphale _is curious_ about the fellow and he knows he’s friends with Marcia, seeing she’s the one who actually picks Eve up after school, and so he had thought-- well, asking couldn’t possibly hurt and now… now…

“I’m-- I don’t--” he begins, still feeling way out of his depth and Marcia offers him a smile, patting his arm.

“You’d like Anthony,” she says, nodding to herself. “And he’d probably like you too. But he’s still too hung up on his ex to give anyone a real shot and you don’t want that kind of pain.”

Unbidden, his mind conjures the image of Crowley, one of those rare and honest smiles on his lips. “I… I might have sort of the same problem too,” he replies. _Not that we are exes or anything, though._ “I shall convince Emma of not making any further attempts of matchmaking.”

“Good luck with that,” Marcia says, smiling knowingly. “Ready to go home, girls?” she calls for Eve and her own daughter, who have disappeared somewhere in the library.

Oh gosh.

That could be problematic.

* * *

 

“You know, I was thinking I still had twenty years or so before another man stole your heart,” Crowley complains dramatically, plopping down on the couch like a fainting maid in a story book. “What has the world come to?”

Eve giggles delightedly, throwing herself over him, squeezing the air out of his lungs if he was human. “Don’t be silly, daddy. I still love you best.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure,” Crowley continues his dramatic charade, covering his eyes with his hand. “It’s all _Mr. Fell this and Mr. Fell that._ ” He runs his fingers through Eve’s curls affectionately, as the girl hugs him tighter. “Had I known it’d come to this, I would have never donated those books.”

Eve giggles some more, burying her face in his chest. “You’re the one who always reads to me,” she murmurs stubbornly and Crowley hums, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I guess it’s true what they said: evil contains its own seeds of destruction.”

Eve huffs, sitting up still on top of him, pushing even more breath out of his lungs. How do humans survive this? “What does that even mean?”

Crowley smiles, sitting up too. “Nevermind it, love. Now, let’s get you some ice cream, huh? See if I can earn some of your favour back?”

“Ice cream!” Eve screams delightedly, jumping off the couch and rushing in the direction of the kitchen, Crowley smiling fondly at her retreating back.

Maybe he should meet this Mr. Fell.

It couldn’t possibly hurt, could it?

* * *

 

“Oh, this is wonderful!” Aziraphale exclaims, as he opens yet another box full of books. “What a generous donation!”

Emma hums, watching him pull out the books, a slight smile on her lips after watching with how much reverence he does it. “We also got new computers,” she comments, examining the books Aziraphale has already placed over the desk. “Macs, so, you know… _inconvenient_ , but the newest model so I can’t exactly refuse them, can I?”

Aziraphale hums, not really listening, his attention mostly on the books. “Oh, this is so old!” he says, caressing the book spine gently. “A first edition!” he exclaims, examining the first page.

“Bookseller, you said? Did you actually sell any books?”

“Not often,” Aziraphale confesses, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “My… _friend_ used to tease me about it endlessly. He helped build most of my collection, of course,” he murmurs, getting lost in his memories. “Good times, those.”

Emma hums. “What happened to him?” Aziraphale looks at her, frowning a little. “I’m sorry, you spoke in past tense and I thought--”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Aziraphale says, waving a hand. He chews his lip, caressing the book’s cover in an effort to soothe himself. “It’s… he left one day,” he puts the book down, noticing he’s beginning to wrinkle the pages, his hold on it too tight. “I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

The Headmistress is watching him with a curious expression on her face. “Special friend, was he?”

 _Yes,_ Aziraphale thinks, but doesn’t dare to admit it out loud. Besides, he has a feeling he knows where she wants to take this conversation. “Marcia told me about your… matchmaking.”

A little chuckle escapes Emma, a fond smile coming unbidden to her lips. “Such a spoilsport, she is. The traitor,” she says, tone full of affection. “I’m good at it, did she tell you that? There’s not a single couple I have paired up who hasn’t lasted.”

Aziraphale chuckles, shaking his head. “We wouldn’t want to ruin your perfect record, would we?” he says, smiling. “I’m not-- it’s not really in my nature, to pair bond.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “You could give it a try,” she says, sitting on the desk. “Everyone could do with a little loving.” She winks and Aziraphale shakes his head fondly. “And I’ve got a perfect eye for these sort of things. A sixth sense, if you will,” she smiles, looking upwards. “A God’s given gift must be put to good use.”

 _She also firmly believes it’s her God’s given mission to set everyone up_ Marcia had said and Aziraphale is suddenly reminded he has a reason to be in Helmsley. An actual God’s given mission and he’s wasting time, valuable time really, but-- “Trust me on this, Emma. It wouldn’t work.”

“Oh, but how will you know, if you don’t give it a try?” She challenges, slipping down the desk and out of library before Aziraphale can even think of an answer.

This could get messy.

* * *

 

“Maybe Emma is onto something,” Marcia says offhandedly, tapping her fingers against the table. Crowley hums, not paying a lot of attention, busy as he is placing some marshmallows on top of their freshly made cocoa cups. 

“What does that mean?” he asks, once he finally processes the woman’s words, passing her her cup, briefly glancing in the direction of the living room, where they girls are busy watching a movie.

“She’s trying to set you up.”

Crowley snorts. “Well, you’ve got to give the girl points for her perseverance. This is the… fifth, sixth time?”

Marcia hums, taking a sip from her drink. “Yeah, but in all her previous attempts you never really took an interest in the prospects,” she replies, frowning a little as she thinks about it. “Now you’re actually asking about him.”

Once again, the demon snorts. “Now, that’s not fair at all. I’m in no way interested in your new librarian, I’m just _curious._ It’s all Eve talks about nowadays, it seems.”

Marcia’s expression conveys she does not believe a word he says, but she’s willing to let the matter drop. “I think you’d like him. You do have a thing for the bookish type.”

“I’ve only ever… _liked_ someone before. I hardly think that’s enough for us to decide I have a _type,”_ Crowley argues sulkily, his thoughts going unbidden to a certain angel. He never really understood what Aziraphale’s fascination with books was about, but he always thought it was one of his most charming _quirks._

“Fair enough,” Marcia agrees, although by her tone alone it’s easy to see she doesn’t agree at all. “I’m sure Emma will manage to introduce you in a few weeks. Maybe next time you decide to make another generous donation.”

Crowley hums, watching his cocoa cup like it holds all the answers in the world. It couldn’t possibly hurt to let Emma introduce him to the new librarian; it wouldn’t be the first time she has tried to set him up with someone. But while he knows it won’t work, it can’t hurt to get to know this fellow that Eve is so fond of.

“Maybe,” he agrees, finally taking a sip from his drink, decidedly ignoring Marcia’s arched eyebrow.

There’s no romance in his future, of that he’s sure.

But it couldn’t possibly hurt.

* * *

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take a book home,” Aziraphale says, smiling at Eve who seems reluctant to even let go of her book long enough for him to register the loan. “Is it good?” he asks, examining the back cover. He’s not familiar with the title or the author, but then, he’s not terribly knowledgeable of contemporary children literature.

“She’s got too many books at home,” Juliet says before Eve can even open her mouth, playing the role of the annoyed older sister to the perfection.

“I just need to know what happens next,” Eve replies, throwing a dirty look in Juliet’s direction, which just makes the older girl smirk. “You want to know too,” she accuses sulkily and Juliet shrugs, attempting to look like she couldn’t care less and missing the mark a little.

Aziraphale smiles indulgently at the girls, exchanging a knowing look with Marcia. From what he’s learned, the girls have been thick as thieves since Eve and her father arrived into town, but Juliet is quickly reaching that age where she’s _too grown up_ for too many things.

“May I have your school card?” he asks, addressing Eve and the girl’s eyes go very wide before she throws her backpack open, searching for it frenetically. Charming as the girl is, she’s not very tidy.

“Lost it again, have you?” Juliet questions, kneeling down next to her to help her search. The girls start bickering among them and Aziraphale shakes his head, amused.

“Aha!” Eve exclaims triumphantly, finally producing her card from the depths of her backpack. Aziraphale smiles, taking the card from her, but before he can register the loan, something catches his attention.

 _Crowley, Eve._ The card reads, next to a photo of Eve. Aziraphale frowns, turning the card to read the back, where her parents information should be. An address and a house phone number are printed on the back, along with Eve’s father name.

_Anthony Crowley._

Surely not. Surely… “Everything alright?” Marcia asks and that’s when Aziraphale notices he’s gone quiet for too long, judging by the girls concerned expression and Marcia’s light frown.

“Yes!” he exclaims cheerfully, going back to registering the book loan. “It’s just… I never asked your last name,” he says, addressing Eve. “And I knew… I knew an Anthony Crowley,” he adds, biting his lip softly.

But no. That’s not… that wouldn’t be possible. Crowley wouldn’t-- Eve does seem like a very normal human child, although-- “Did you?” Marcia questions, a curious expression on her face that Aziraphale doesn’t really wish to interpret.

“Just a coincidence, I’m sure,” he says with a smile, handing Eve both the book and her card back. “You’ve got until next Monday to bring it back.”

Eve nods, happily placing both items into her backpack, completely oblivious to the tension in the room. Aziraphale is still mostly lost in his thoughts, wondering about a hundred _what-ifs,_ completely missing the considering look Marcia is sporting.

“Well, we better get going,” Marcia says, steering the girls out of the library, startling a still very distracted Aziraphale. “Have a nice afternoon, Ezra.”

“You too,” he answers distractedly, his mind still caught up with the possible scenarios.

But Crowley wouldn’t.

Would he?

* * *

 

“I need you to tell me something,” Marcia says without preamble and Crowley frowns. Eve and Juliet push past them towards Eve’s room, arguing about something. It’s not exactly common for Marcia and Juliet to stay for dinner, but it’s obvious the woman has something on her mind and judging by her expression, Crowley figures it’s wise to just go along with it.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, heading for the kitchen, Marcia hot on his heels. “Did something happen?”

“Describe your Aziraphale for me.”

“He’s not-- he wasn’t--” he starts and then frowns, turning to face his companion. “Why?”

“Blond, blue eyes, with a fashion sense from a couple of centuries ago?”

“Oh, god,” Crowley says, dropping himself on a chair, his unnecessary heart beating maddly inside his chest. “You saw him? Where?”

Marcia is searching his cabinets, looking for one of the wine bottles he keeps there. She pours them both a drink and Crowley finishes his in just one gulp, feeling vaguely sick. “Marcia, where?”

“School,” Marcia replies, watching him like a hawk. Crowley pales, worst-case scenarios running wild inside his head. “He’s our new librarian.”

Crowley blinks, processing the information. “What happened to Mr. Fell?” he asks, rather dumbly and Marcia just arches an eyebrow. “Oh. OH! Back to Ezra Fell, is he?” he asks, pouring himself another cup and finishing it in another gulp. “Oh, G-S- Someone! What is he doing here?”

“I don’t think he knows you’re here,” Marcia tells him, in what she probably thinks it’s a reassuring tone. “He seemed quite surprised when he saw Eve’s school card.”

Oh, this is bad; terrible really. What if-- what if-- “I need to go,” he says, standing up abruptly.

“What? Anthony, what are you--?” Marcia exclaims, following after him and Crowley shakes his head, picking his car keys on his way out. “Anthony, wait!”

“I need to go see him,” he says and realizes he doesn’t actually _need to_ . He just desperately _wants to._ To do what exactly he has no clue, but-- “I need to know-- I need to see him for myself.”

Marcia bites her lip, expression conflicted, but she finally nods. “Alright. I’ll watch over Eve, alright?”

Crowley nods a bit distractedly, already out of the house, heading for the garage. His beloved Bentley spends most of the time inside the garage nowadays, having figured it was just too distinctive, worried a certain someone might be looking for him.

But staying undercover is no longer important, is it? 

What is Aziraphale doing here, anyway?

And more importantly, what is he going to do about it?

* * *

 

**Emma, we have an emergency! You hired Anthony’s ex!**

What? When? I haven’t hired anyone lately! 

**The librarian.**

Ezra?! Are you kidding me?! 

**I’m home with the girls. Anthony left to see him.**

Oh god. Will there be blood, you reckon? 

**You should probably check on them.**

On it. Told you they were perfect for each other. 

**Really? After he broke Anthony’s heart irremediably?**

Broken hearts can be mended, Marcia. One just needs to find the perfect person for the job. 

**Surely not the one who broke it in the first place.**

People make mistakes. 

**Do everyone deserves a second chance, then?**

That remains to be seen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts anyone?  
> I really thought this was the reunion chapter. But by the time I got to the last scene, I figured the actual reunion worked better on a new chapter.  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	7. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The much anticipated reunion! I was eager to write it down and while I’m happy with it, I’m wondering if having it from Aziraphale’s POV wasn’t a mistake :P  
> Well, anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy it!

The door gets throw open, banging against the wall with enough force to make the whole building vibrate. Aziraphale looks up guiltily from the file he’s revising, doing his best to not look too guilty-- school librarians probably don’t have access to students’ records, but he didn’t think a minor miracle to make a certain record appear on his desk would cause any trouble, nor did he think anyone would notice the record’s disappearance.

As it turns out, he was right on both accounts and the newcomer isn’t here about the file, although he’s here about the _subject_ of record. Aziraphale blinks, processing what he’s seeing, not quite daring to breath, even when his very unnecessary lungs start aching.

“Crowley?” he whispers breathlessly, standing up and reaching for the demon without any consciousness of doing so. It’s been so long since they saw each other and he’s having trouble believing this is not all part of an elaborate daydream, that the demon is really here, in the same room as he, looking a little franatic, but otherwise, perfectly fine.

And suddenly Crowley is too close, way too into Aziraphale’s personal space and the angel feels overwhelmed, his head spinning, heart beating so loud that it takes him a while to notice that Crowley is speaking, asking something in fact and yet he can’t hear him over the pounding of his heart.

“--doing here?!” Crowley demands, grasping Aziraphale by the shoulders, shaking him a little when the angel fails to react. “Aziraphale! What are you doing here?”

Aziraphale blinks, forcing himself to focus on Crowley’s question rather than on the funny way his unnecessary stomach is fluttering. The demon is still too close though, and it’s hard to think with Crowley so close, it’s always been hard to think with Crowley close and so he pushes the demon off, taking a step back. Crowley looks ready to close the space between them once more and Aziraphale can feel himself panicking, but Crowley seems to realize this and stands his ground instead, even though it’s obvious that’s not what he wants to do.

“I… what do you mean what am I doing here?” he demands, finally recovering his wits. “I-- what are _you_ doing here?”

Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically. “I asked first. So talk.”

Aziraphale just watches him in silence for a beat, before looking in the direction of his desk, where Eve’s record still sits. Crowley follows his line of sight, seeing the file too and he licks his lips nervously, which prompts yet another flutter of Aziraphale’s stomach. “I’ve been sent to Helmsley,” Aziraphale replies very slowly, watching Crowley’s reaction closely. He hears his sharp intake of breath, betraying his concern, but he quickly smooths down his expression, shoving down the panic Aziraphale’s words have provoked.

“Have you?” Crowley asks, trying to sound calm and failing miserably. “What does Gabriel want in a little town in the middle of nowhere?”

“It wasn’t Gabriel who sent me,” Aziraphale replies, watching his every word.

Crowley frowns, concerned. “Who, then? I can’t imagine Michael would be terribly interested in human matters and Helmsley is--”

“Why are you here?” Aziraphale interrupts, more sharply than he intended and Crowley flinches, taking a step back. The angel immediately feels the urge to close the distance between them, but promptly tells himself he’s being silly: he took the first step back, after all.

“Needed some time away,” Crowley replies, not meeting his eyes, a clear sign he’s lying. Or not saying the full truth, at least. “ _Afterwards_ … I needed some time away.”

 _After what?_ Aziraphale wants to ask, but doesn’t. There are more pressing matters, after all. “Is that all? No devilish business you’re taking care off?”

Crowley scoffs. “I knew you’d think that,” he murmurs, angry and bitter. “Ask what you really want to ask, angel.”

“Is Eve yours?” That’s not exactly what Aziraphale meant to ask, but it works just as well, he supposes. That’s the real crux of the matter, isn’t it?

“In a sense,” Crowley replies, turning away, starting to pace the small space in between Aziraphale’s desk and the bookshelves. “Not _biologically_ mine, if that’s what you’re concerned about. She’s perfectly human, haven’t you noticed?” he smiles, but it’s a cold cruel thing and a shiver runs down Aziraphale’s back.

“Why--?” Aziraphale begins, but doesn’t finish, biting his lip instead. He’s not really sure what he wants to ask: it’s not like he needs Crowley to tell him why he’d take in an abandoned baby (and he knows that’s the case, even if the demon hasn’t said as much). 

Crowley doesn’t answer, keeping his eyes trained on the floor as he continues his pacing. Aziraphale sighs, thinking how badly this conversation has gone. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs softly. “I wish-- I wish you hadn’t felt you had to keep it from me. I’m sorry I made you felt that way.”

Crowley’s lips curve in a self deprecating smile, but he nods. Aziraphale sighs once again, looking upwards, silently praying for someone else’s forgiveness for what he’s about to do. “I have a mission,” he says and Crowley’s head snaps in his direction. “I think-- I’m thinking it might have something to do with Eve.”

He’s been crowded against the wall before he even realizes what’s happening, Crowley’s grip on the lapels of his coat so strong he’s about to tear at the fabric. “You tell your lot to leave my little girl out of whatever grand scheme they have,” the demon hisses, angry as Aziraphale has never seen him before, but he’s not scared. “I don’t care what Michael or Uriel or whoever--”

“It’s a mission from God Herself,” Aziraphale interrupts, closing his eyes, incapable of handling whatever expression Crowley’s face is sporting. 

“You-- you spoke to Her?” Crowley asks, unbelieving, letting go of him. “You spoke to the Big Boss?” Aziraphale nods, pained. “But-- but she hasn’t spoken to _anyone_ in _centuries._ What could be so important that--?”

“I don’t… I don’t know exactly,” Aziraphale says, reaching for the demon, but Crowley pushes him away, a bunch of conflicting emotions reflected in his eyes.

Crowley closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying no doubt to calm himself. “What does She want with my baby girl?” he asks after a bit, resignation and annoyance clear in his tone.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale repeats and the demon turns to glare at him. “I really don’t! I don’t even know if that’s what She meant!” he exclaims, desperate, as Crowley narrows his eyes at him. 

“What did She say, exactly?” Crowley demands. “Word by word, Aziraphale.”

“She said I was to come to Helmsley. And that once I was here… I would know.”

Crowley groans, frustrated. “Typical. She can never bother to speak plainly, can She?” he looks upwards, his annoyance clear in his face. “You couldn’t give some clear instructions, could you?!” he yells angrily and Aziraphale reaches for him.

“My dear, let’s not-- I mean, it’s probably for the best if we don’t--” he gestures helplessly, just as frustrated as his counterpart but of course he could never quite voice it like that. “I’m sorry.”

Crowley sighs, allowing Aziraphale’s touch, relaxing against him after a beat. It’s nice, just being together once again, especially now that they’ve spoken their piece, or so Aziraphale believes. “You don’t know for sure,” Crowley murmurs softly, his breath warm against Aziraphale’s neck and just when did he get this close? “You-- it might have nothing to do with Eve.”

It’s a possibility, of course. It might just be a huge coincidence.

Of course, nothing is completely coincidental, all is part of the Ineffable Plan in one way or another but--

 _Not exactly part of the Ineffable plan, is it?_ Her voice resonates inside his head and Aziraphale nods, even if he feels quite unconvinced. Crowley smiles, a fragile small thing and Aziraphale attempts to smile back, although his is just as wobbly.

They’re sort of holding one another, Aziraphale realizes. Before the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, they had avoided touching much, but afterwards-- afterwards touching just came so easily. So it shouldn’t surprise him, he doesn’t think and he really shouldn’t read much into how right this feels, how perfectly the demon seems to fit against him and yet--

“Oh. Sorry, I’ll just… umm…” Aziraphale looks in the direction of the door, where a very flustered Emma is standing. She looks like she came running, concern radiating from her and some amusement too. At the sound of her voice though, whatever the spell between him and Crowley has been broken and the demon has already pulled apart, so quickly that it might be funny under different circumstances.

“I-- I need to go,” Crowley says, heading for the door before Aziraphale can even think of saying something. He leaves without looking back and Aziraphale’s heart clenches painfully inside his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” Emma murmurs, apologetic. “I just-- I wanted to make sure everything was alright. Is… is everything ok?”

Aziraphale smiles at her, hoping for reassuring but missing the mark entirely.

He’s not entirely sure of the answer, truth to be told.

 

* * *

 

Great. The Big Boss has taken a personal interest in his little girl.

Just perfect, really.

Exactly what he needs right now.

Crowley sighs, taking another long gulp of the wine, straight out of the bottle. There’s a chance, of course, that Aziraphale’s mysterious mission doesn’t actually have anything to do with Eve, but that’s too much of a coincidence. Oh, he hopes that’s indeed the case, but he knows the odds aren’t in his favour.

He knows Aziraphale wouldn’t actually harm an innocent child. But if Heaven ordered, he would stand by and watch whatever came to pass to said child. He’s done it before, after all: didn’t he simply stood there while children drowned after God’s tantrum that resulted on the flood?

Busy as he is panicking about God’s interest in his girl, he has failed to think too much about his reunion with Aziraphale. But of course the minute he starts thinking about that, he can’t stop his thoughts, no matter what.

Their encounter replays inside his head over and over again, until he can barely think straight. He imagined that particular reunion several times before, truth to be told, but it never played out like that. All in all, he thinks he behaved rather level headed, his concern about Eve overpowering his own silly _feelings,_ quelling his longing into a manageable level. 

He closes his eyes and he can perfectly see Aziraphale’s expression when his eyes first landed on him. Something akin to relief shone in them, Crowley thinks; surprised, yes, but pleased too. Why, he might even go as far as to say that Aziraphale looked at him as if he had missed Crowley as much as Crowley had missed him.

That is, of course, a fanciful notion. Of course the angel hadn’t missed him, at least not to the extent that Crowley had. After all he didn’t come to Helmsley looking for him, as Crowley had briefly allowed himself to fantasize about; of course not, of course Heaven is involved one way or another.

“Everything quite alright?” a voice asks from somewhere on his left and Crowley has to force himself to look up to find Mr. Black, the local bartender, watching him with a concerned expression.

“Yesss, yesss, just dandy,” Crowley replies easily. He looks at his bottle, now empty and wonders when did that happen. Not very wise, getting drunk in public, certainly not at the local bar where people gather to discuss the newest gossip. By this time tomorrow everyone in town will know of his little slip and will be speculating wildly about it. “Give me another one, would you?” he says, raising the bottle, earning himself a raised eyebrow from Mr. Black.

“I think you’ve had quite enough, Mr. Crowley,” the man says gently, prying the empty bottle from Crowley’s stubborn grip. “Should I call someone to pick you up?”

“No, no,” he slurs. “I really need another bottle,” he insists and, sensing he’s about to be denied once more, he hurries to carry on. “Did you know, my ex is in town.” Only of course Aziraphale isn’t his _ex_ , but calling him his _hereditary enemy who does not believe Crowley can love anything, let alone love him and by saying as much broke Crowley’s unnecessary heart into a million pieces_ doesn’t have the same ring about it.

Besides, that’s bound to buy him a little sympathy from the town’s folk.

Mr. Black’s eyebrows are climbing out of his forehead and he leans forward, conspiratorial. “Is that true?”

“Yesss!” Crowley exclaims, full of false cheer due the alcohol. He’s just had one bottle, but fatherhood has turned him into a lightweight. “Hasss been for a while, actually, except I’m just finding out now,” he continues, throwing his arms around in a careless motion. “How sssmall the world is, huh?”

Mr. Black opens his mouth to reply and seems to think better of it, producing another bottle from underneath the bar and passing it to Crowley, who smirks, giving a cheerful toast once he manages to open it. The other man just watches him in silence, considering something. “He wouldn’t happen to be the school’s librarian, would he?”

“Yesss! That’s him!” Crowley exclaims, grinning madly. “Who would have thought, huh?”

“He doesn’t look the type,” Mr. Black says and Crowley snorts. “The type to break hearts, I mean,” the bartender clarifies and Crowley lets out a high pitched laugh, gathering everyone’s attention.  “Appearances can be deceiving,” Mr. Black continues, nodding sagely.

“You can ssssay that again!” Crowley agrees, raising his bottle in another toast. 

“What are you going to do now?” the bartender questions, all honest concern and Crowley shrugs non committedly, twirling the wine bottle absentmindedly.

“I knew… I alwaysss knew I would crawl my way back to him,” he says, full of self depreciation. “It’sss what I alwayssss do! Beg for scrapesss and tell myself I’m happy with that!” He sneers, angry and annoyed at himself. “I jussst… I didn’t think it’d be so sssoon.”

Mr. Black pats his arm, comfortingly and Crowley is suddenly very glad he decided to make do without tear ducts. All his unnecessary body parts have made his life difficult while on earth, but at least he’s never been at risk of breaking down crying in front of a bunch of strangers.

Well, none of the bar patrons are actual strangers, of course. It’s a small town and everyone knows everybody.

Still, that’d be too embarrassing.

Better like this.

 

* * *

 

“I’m terribly sorry,” Emma says as Aziraphale busies himself with setting the library back to rights. He didn’t quite noticed what a mess he and Crowley did although he’s not entirely sure how that happened. “It’s just-- it was too quiet and after what Marcia told me-- I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

“Of course, my dear girl,” Aziraphale answers distractedly and then finally processes her words. “What do you mean? What did Marcia say?”

“Oh, well, it’s just… given yours and Anthony’s history… I mean, it was likely to get messy.”

“Our… history,” Aziraphale repeats very slowly, mind on overdrive wondering what exactly Crowley has told them.

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” Emma continues, her fingers tracing circles over the top of the desk. “You really… you don’t seem the type. But evidently… I mean… oh, Ezra, how could you?”

Aziraphale just blinks, waiting for the woman to continue. Humans, he has discovered, will continue talking if you wait, even if it’s a subject they don’t actually want to discuss. “He’s such a wonderful man,” Emma carries on wistfully, just as Aziraphale knew she would. “And he very obviously was-- still is-- mad about you, so how could you?”

“It’s…” he sighs, closing his eyes. Just what did Crowley tell these women? And what can he say that won’t blow their covers? “I don’t know what exactly Crowley has told you, Emma, but our… _history_ is complicated. We-- I--” He shakes his head, finding he does not wish to finish that thought, _he simply can’t_.  “And now of course, he’s gone and complicated things further. How-- I mean, what was he thinking? A child?!”

“Eve is a doll,” Emma defends and Aziraphale sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

“She is. But Crowley-- he’s not--”

“He’s a wonderful father,” Emma interrupts sharply. “He loves Eve. There’s not a single thing he wouldn’t do for her.”

 _Love,_ Aziraphale thinks. Demons have no real concept of love, how could they after they Fell? And yet, with Crowley-- well, he knows he’s not your average demon and he’s shown he’s capable of a wide range of emotions, love probably among them but that’s a rabbit hole Aziraphale is not willing to go down through, too scared of what he might find on the other end.

In any case, now is not the time to be thinking about _that._  

This could get all kinds of complicated. Maybe Crowley’s… _fatherhood_ is completely unrelated to his divine mission, but if it isn’t… if what God wants from him is somewhat related to Crowley’s daughter--

Well, what then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> As I said, I’m happy with the first part, but Aziraphale’s POV is so…   
> __  
> contained  
>   
> . It works, but I’m wondering if going with Crowley’s would have been more emotion-inducing :P
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, I hope Crowley’s little scene afterwards made up for the lack of angst in the first part ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!  
>   
> 


	8. Practical matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter!
> 
> I apologize for the slightly late update. You might know I got distracted by a little plot bunny (that you can find [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812436)) but I’ve decided I’m going to focus on finishing this first ;) Now, without further ado, enjoy!

He needs to be practical about it.

And being practical, especially in this particular case, means pushing his messy feelings to the depths of his mind, put on his calm and collected facade and go and actually  _ talk _ to Aziraphale.

Crowley takes a deep breath, staring at his reflection for what feels like the millionth time that morning, repeating over and over, like a mantra, that it’s going to be fine. He’ll go talk to Aziraphale, he’ll help him figure out this divine mission of his and, with any luck, the angel will be out of his hair shortly after.

Hopefully. 

His unpractical heart clenches inside his chest at the thought, but he forces himself not to linger on that. Aziraphale’s presence might quench the longing inside his very bones, but in the long run it’s counterproductive for Crowley’s  _ recovery _ . If he’s ever going to get his  _ emotions _ under control, he needs to stay away from Aziraphale. A couple of centuries should help him regain some semblance of balance; a little under seven years are not, by any stretch of the imagination, enough time to get over his feelings.

“Alright,” he murmurs to himself, running his fingers through his hair, making sure his half bun looks well. “I can do this. _ I can _ .” He nods to himself and finally dares to leave his room, heading for the front door. “Eve! Are you ready?!”

“I was ready 10 minutes ago,” Eve replies, arms crossed over her chest, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “What were  _ you _ doing?” the girl asks, one eyebrow arched and Crowley smiles at her, ruffling her hair affectionately.

“Alright, let’s go. Juliet--” he turns to find the other girl in the kitchen, stealing cookies as she tends to do every morning and Crowley sighs. “If your mother ever finds out, she’ll kill me,” he says, because Marcia has a very strict (and ridiculous) policy against anything too sugary for breakfast.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Juliet replies sassily, taking another cookie before placing the jar back on its rightful place. “Or you, for that matter.”

Crowley rolls his eyes. She’ll be a terribly influence for Eve, once they both reach puberty but that’s a concern for another day. If things go pear-shaped and Aziraphale insists on remaining in Helmsley, it might not come to that, since Crowley will have to start  _ running _ .

But as he watches Eve and Juliet head towards the car, he can’t help hoping it won’t come to that.

 

* * *

 

He had crawled back home in the wee hours of the morning, Mr. Black having drop him off just a street away. Marcia had been somewhere between angry and mad with worry, but after seeing the state he was in, she had let him go without a comment. In truth, there was no need for Crowley to be so damn drunk, particularly when he could sober up with just a thought, but he really hadn’t wanted to  _ think  _ and being drunk was a marvelous escape from his dire reality.

In the morning though, he had decided against handling the resulting hangover. Marcia had looked doubtful when he insisted he’d drive the girls to school as usual, insisting that she could handle that for one day and surely Emma wouldn’t get terribly mad if she arrived late after the night before, but Crowley had insisted  _ he was fine _ . He was fine, perfectly fine and determined to prove it.

_ He is fine _ , he tells himself as he watches Eve and Juliet walk into school, bickering about something once more. He’s receiving a few curious looks from the other parents and he huffs, thinking news do travel fast in small towns. 

He scrunches his nose in displeasure, before quickly smoothing down his expression once more. He starts walking in the direction of the school too, with the firm intention of stopping by the library and then he thinks better of it.

It wouldn’t be polite to show up empty handed, he thinks. And after how last night conversation went… well. They could do with a little sweetness, he thinks.

Mind make up, he heads for the nearby bakery.

And isn’t it lucky that it just happens to have opened earlier than usual?

 

* * *

 

“What are you doing here?” Marcia demands, having run into him an hour later in the halls. Crowley hadn’t been wandering around, building up his courage, certainly not; he simply had gotten a bit lost. Of course he’s been coming to the school rather regularly ever since Eve started it, but that’s not here nor there, is it?

“I-- I simply-- I bought you donuts!” he exclaims cheerfully, handing the small bag with the sugary treats to her. “And coffee!” he adds just as cheerfully, raising the tray with the pair plastic cups. Marcia rolls her eyes, clearly not believing him and drags him in the direction of the Headmistress office which, coincidentally, happens to be in the opposite direction of the library.

“Look who I found,” Marcia says, pushing him into Emma’s office, making him sit down. “He brought us donuts.”

“Oh, how sweet!” Emma exclaims, delighted, retrieving a donut from the bag. “And coffee too! Oh, Anthony, you shouldn’t have--”

“It’s not really for us!” Marcia interrupts, annoyance clear in her tone. “He’s here to see Ezra,” she pauses, frowning a little. “Should I start calling him Aziraphale? What’s up with that?”

“Fake name,” Crowley replies, although he doesn’t clarify. “And yes, I’m here to see him, but it’s not what you think!”

“As long as no murders take place inside my school,” Emma says with a small smile, biting onto her donut. “God, are these from Woodstone?”

“Emma, focus!” Marcia demands while Crowley smirks, amused.

The Headmistress rolls her eyes, leaning back on her seat. “He’s a grown up man, Marcia. He can make his own decisions.”

“But--”

“It’s not like that!” Crowley insists. “It’s just… it’s just business.” Marcia arches an eyebrow, unbelieving and Crowley sighs, rubbing his temples tiredly. “Look, I can’t-- I can’t explain, exactly. But it could be dangerous for Eve--”

“How?!” both women demand at the exact time, all traces of humor gone from Emma’s face, Marcia looking even more concerned now. Crowley sighs once more, his headache from his earlier hangover coming back with a vengeance.

“Listen, I… It’s just… Ok, ok. Here’s the thing. Aziraphale and I… have a sort of deal. Back from my working days,” no one really knows what he used to do before coming to Helmsley and speculation has run wild on that front for years. It never really mattered to him, but he’s beginning to think using said speculation now might work on his favour. “Aziraphale works for some…  _ people,” _ he says, purposely vague. He’s discovered that when you say  _ people _ in the right tone, humans tend to interpret it either as the government or the mafia and he’s not particularly worried about which interpretation they’ll go with.

“Bad people?” Emma asks, leaning forward, linking her hands over the desk.

Crowley shrugs. “Depends on who you ask, I guess,” he replies which is true enough. “But the point is… it could be dangerous.”

“He doesn’t look the type,” Emma musses out loud and Marcia glares at her. “But never mind that. Why would they be a danger for Eve?”

Crowley closes his eyes, fending off the worrisome images that come unbidden to the forefront of his mind. “Not estrictly… I mean, it might be more about me than her, but either way-- it could get messy.”

“Did you… work for this people too?” Marcia asks, placing a hand on his arm, comforting, although she looks more than a little terrified.

“Opposite side,” Crowley replies with a shrug. “It matters not. I just-- The sooner he’s done with whatever business he has here, the better for all of us. So… I need to talk to him. About that.”

The women exchange a look, both looking deeply unconvinced. “Is it safe?” Emma asks, all open concern and Crowley’s stomach turns upside down. 

“I don’t know,” he replies, honestly.

But he’ll have to find out, won’t he?

 

* * *

 

He didn’t lie to Emma and Marcia, per se.

It’s not the full truth, of course, but he can hardly explain the truth, can he? They’d never believe it, so all in all… Yeah. He has no reason to feel guilty about it.

He does wonder how many times he’ll have to repeat it before he starts believing it.

But nevermind that now. This web of lies he’s started spinning is going to come back to haunt him, he just knows it, but with any luck Aziraphale will be out of town before anything happens. Of course now Emma and Marcia are very worried about Aziraphale’s other… eh…  _ employment _ , but what’s done is done. And they did promise they wouldn’t bring the subject up, so… yeah, it’s probably  _ not that terrible _ .

He runs his fingers through his hair, telling himself there’s no use on postponing the inevitable. He does need to talk to Aziraphale, if they’re going to figure a way out of this mess.

He pushes the library door open, doing his best not cringe at the sound it makes. Taking yet another deep breath to steel himself, he slides into the room, making sure the lock the door behind him. It wouldn’t do to get interrupted, although, of course, if someone does come knocking, it will spark all sort of rumours.

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaims, sounding honestly pleased, his face lighting up immediately and Crowley chides his foolish heart for skipping a beat. “You came back!” he comes from around his desk, approaching Crowley as if he meant to hug him, making alarms going wild inside his head.

“Yes, I-- I think we need to talk,” he says, taking a step back, ignoring the way Aziraphale’s face seems to fall at the action. “About… I mean… what do we know about this mission of yours?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmurs softly, almost resignedly. He chews his lip, as if considering something, but then shakes his head, murmuring to himself. “You want to talk business, of course.”

Crowley’s unnecessary blood freezes in his unnecessary veins. Aziraphale can not believe he wishes to discuss  _ that night,  _ the foolish words they both said. Aziraphale’s stance on the matter was quite clear and there’s no need to revise it, none at all, certainly not when Crowley is still working on his messy  _ feelings.  _ “What else is there to discuss?” he asks, aiming for flippant but missing the mark entirely.

“I suppose,” Aziraphale concedes, signaling for him to take a seat at one of the tables. “I just--” he hesitates, briefly looking in the direction of the ceiling as if asking for directions. “I must say, you’ve done a good job with Eve. She’s… she’s the sweetest girl.”

Crowley’s heart lurches, but he hurries to keep his expression from betraying his emotions. “Thank you, I suppose. I’ve done what I can.”

“You’ve done more than that,” Aziraphale argues gently, taking a seat in front of him, hands folded primly on top of the table. Crowley itches to reach out for him, but he does know better than that. “From what I’ve seen and from what people tell me, you’re a good father.”

Crowley closes his eyes, pained. Sure, he’s a good father, he’s just not capable of love.  _ Of bloody course _ . “Yes, well… whatever,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “The mission? Are you quite sure She didn’t give you any hints?”

“Oh, She probably did,” Aziraphale replies, slightly put off. “You know how it is; She’ll say something that doesn’t make an ounce of sense at the time, but with the benefit of retrospective, it makes an awful lot of sense.”

Of course. “Well, then what did She say?”

“That’s the thing, though,” Aziraphale replies, a bit sheepishly. “I don’t… there’s nothing that stuck me as odd. She mentioned the failed Apocalypse and how it was all part of the Ineffable Plan and She… She alluded to our little… umm… arrangement to avoid permanent death, but--”

“Wait, wait, wait. She knows?”

“Of course She does, Crowley. She knows everything.”

“And She didn’t mind?”

Aziraphale shrugs. “As I said, it seems it was all part of the Ineffable Plan, so we’re safe on that regard.” He sighs, rubbing his temples tiredly. “She did mention that this, whatever it is, wasn’t part of the Plan either, but that it’d be lovely if it came to pass. I can’t-- I can’t recall anything else She said. I was a bit terrified at the time, you see.”

“I imagine,” Crowley agrees, suppressing a shiver. He has no idea what he’d have done in Aziraphale’s shoes. “But that doesn’t give us much to work with, does it?” He tapes his fingers against the table, considering. He bites his lip, uncertain whether or not he wants to ask what he’s thinking. “Have you-- didn’t your Superiors had any light to sheed on the matter?”

Aziraphale makes a face, lips twisting unhappily. “They didn’t-- I mean, they seemed very curious about my meeting with Her, but after I left Her office, there was no one waiting for me and they have yet to show up so...” he trails off, shrugging non committedly.

“Doesn’t sound very… Gabriel-ish, to me.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes, mostly fond and Crowley grins. “It’s curious, really. If it’s not related to the Ineffable Plan, why bother? And why not send one of the Archangels, for that matter? I’m sure Gabriel would be dying for the chance--”

“I… I know you don’t want to hear it, but ever since I knew you were here-- I mean, Gabriel would have done something drastic the minute he saw you with Eve,” he says softly, almost sheepish. “Maybe… maybe that’s why...?”

It’s a good theory, truth to be told. It’s not what Crowley wants to believe, though. “We’ll have to keep thinking,” he says, leaning back on his seat. “Something will occur us eventually.” He doesn’t really believe it; it’s becoming more and more likely that Aziraphale is onto something, but he really doesn’t want to think about that.

“Of course,” Aziraphale agrees, a timid smile on his lips. “Now that we’re together-- we’re a good team, aren’t we?”

Crowley looks away, ignoring that sharp stab of hurt. “Of course,” he replies softly, tone full of hurt although he doubts Aziraphale notices. “We managed to stop the Apocalypse, didn’t we?” he says with a wistful smile and while that’s not completely true, he supposes the sentiment is true enough.

Aziraphale smiles, a bit sadly, but he nods.

Well, nothing for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> There’s not much happening, I know, but the plot should start moving further along very soon. I have more or less of a plan for the next few chapters and I’m thinking there are 6-7 more chapters to go but well… we’ll see ;)  
> Thanks for reading!


	9. What can never be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I managed to finish sooner than I thought and I figured there was no reason to wait so… enjoy!

It is, perhaps, a tiny bit disturbing how easily they fall back into a routine.

Aziraphale can’t say it disturbs him, though. In fact, he might even go as far as to say he feels… _ relieved _ about the recent developments. He enjoys spending time with Crowley, no matter how much he might have denied it in the past and it’s reassuring that, despite the time that has passed, there’s no actual rift between them.

Well. That might be a bit of a lie.

There’s no denying Crowley seems a bit more…  _ reserved _ nowadays, but Aziraphale is all too willing to pretend not to notice. Anything that could upset their easy interactions is better swept under the rug, never to see the light of the day again. Better to ignore this distance, so it might not break their fragile truce. He still does not know what exactly went wrong between them, but he has figured it’s a question best left unanswered.

What is  _ funny _ though, it’s the way the rest of the townsfolk treat him ever since he and Crowley started spending more time together. He had thought them mostly a friendly bunch, everyone polite and pleasant to be around, always keen on a little conversation. Nowadays however, he can feel the mostly angry, sometimes confused stares; the way people seem to observe him a little too closely, as if searching for something.

It has something to do with Crowley, he knows, he’s just not entirely certain _ how _ . The demon is well liked and the whole town seems to dote on little Eve, everyone too willing to distract the little girl while he and Crowley talk. But people will stare and will look at Crowley with pity in their eyes before turning an angry look in Aziraphale’s direction and he does not understand what’s going on.

“It’s a very nice town,” Aziraphale comments, looking around the small restaurant, trying to ignore the many gazes turn in their direction. “I would have expected a little more of… mayhem, considering how long you’ve been here.”

Crowley waves a hand dismissively, leaning back on his seat. “I told you before, all that  _ mayhem  _ wasn’t my fault. I was there because there was mayhem, not the other way around.” He smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. “Of course that’s not what I reported back to the Head office.”

Aziraphale hums, attempting to steal a piece of Crowley’s dessert. Eve glares, pulling the plate towards herself, taking a determined bite from it. “No more cake-theft, I’m afraid,” Crowley comments, a fond and amused smile on his face. “You’ll need to buy your own cake, angel.”

“So it seems,” he agrees, smiling down at Eve. The girl huffs, dropping her eyes to her plate and continues eating, merrily ignoring Aziraphale. That’s a change too, although perhaps a little more understandable: she liked him well enough when he was just the school librarian, but now she has to share her father’s attention with him and seeing she was the center of Crowley’s life for so long…. well, it’s too be expected, really.

“Don’t take it personally,” Crowley mouths, so not to upset Eve and Aziraphale attempts to smile, although he fails. He likes the girl, he really does and he wishes these changes would have brought them closer instead of farther apart.

Aziraphale sighs, looking around for the waiter to order his own dessert. He gets another glare for his troubles, but the waiter does bring him his cake, not without throwing another pitying glance in the demon’s direction, which he seems not to notice.

It is quite curious, truth to be told. He gets the feeling he did something wrong, although he has no idea what exactly and it’s like the whole town is judging him for it.

Most odd, really.

* * *

 

“Who are you texting?” Aziraphale asks, mostly out of curiosity and not because he’s really bothered by it. Of course Crowley has been texting intermittently for the last hour or so when they’re supposed to be enjoying a quiet evening at home, but he doesn’t really mind, not really.

“Marcia,” Crowley replies absently, before putting his phone back in his pocket and turning to Aziraphale expectantly. “Is that cocoa ready?” he asks, pulling a bag of marshmallows out of one of the shelves.

“It seems Eve inherited my sweet tooth,” Aziraphale comments, ignoring the ridiculous stab of…  _ something  _ at Crowley’s revelation of the identity of his texter. Aziraphale hadn’t been exactly friends with Marcia before he found out Crowley was in town, but now the woman goes to the extremes to avoid him or throws very nasty glares in his direction when she can’t. He does wonder if there’s some history there, but he has considered wiser not to ask. Crowley had never shown much interest in a particular human but things have changed, haven’t they? “Not to mention my love for books.”

Crowley hums, busying himself with preparing the cocoa mugs. “Well, you know I’ve never been a fan of food. But I figured you were as much of a good frame of reference as anyone when it came to sweet treats so…” he trails off, smiling a bit and Aziraphale’s unnecessary heart does something _ funny _ .

“You do fed her healthy food, right?” he asks, not sure what to do about the tightness in his chest. “Because I’m not exactly… I mean, a human who ate as I do…”

“Yes, yes,” Crowley argues with a roll of his eyes. “What kind of father do you think I am?” he says and then bites his lip rather harshly, as if he’s regretting that question. Aziraphale isn’t sure why, but before he can ask, the demon is talking once more. “As for the reading… weren’t you always saying parents should encourage their children to read?”

Aziraphale hums, taking one of the steaming cups. “I suppose you have a point,” he agrees softly. “But why-- Really, Crowley?” he demands, when the demon takes out his phone once more and starts typing something.

“Sorry, sorry,” his companion apologises, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “I just-- nevermind. It’s not important.”

“What does Marcia want, anyway?” the angel says, slightly more annoyed than he meant to sound and the casual way the demon dismisses his question with a wave of a hand doesn’t really do anything to improve his mood. “Crowley?”

“It’s not important,” he insists, taking the other mug and heading in the direction of the living room. “Now, are you going to watch the movie with us or not?”

Aziraphale opens his mouth to say something about him wanting an actual answer, but quickly thinks better of it. It won’t do to upset Crowley and the last thing he wants is for the demon to disappear on him without any explanation once more, just because of something he said.

“Sure,” he concedes defeatedly, following the other man-shaped being into the living room.

He needs to learn to pick his battles.

* * *

 

“I don’t understand the need of turning every movie into live-actions nowadays,” Crowley comments off handedly, nose scrunched in displeasure. “Animation worked just fine.”

Aziraphale hums. “Greediness, I suppose. You’d know better, since this is exactly the type of low-grade evil you’d come up with.”

“Excuse me? Low-grade evil? Do you know the implications this type of things have? It’s the sort of thing only humans can come up with. I’d--”

“Hush!” Eve demands, turning to them with a glare. Crowley smiles, ruffling her hair affectionately and the girl curls closer to him, her head resting on his shoulder as she goes back to watching the movie, enraptured. Aziraphale for his part watches the interaction, something that feels an awful lot like longing unfurling inside his chest.

“You know nothing about human greediness,” Crowley says after a while, picking up their conversation once Eve’s full attention is back on the movie. “This, angel, shows a level of creativity nor Hell nor Heaven are capable off.”

“I always thought you were rather creative,” Aziraphale comments, earning himself a smile from his companion. “I always thought it would be quite terrible for the world if you ever decided to actually do your job.”

“You blamed me for an awful lot of awful things, I seem to remember,” the demon points out. 

“No, I… I always knew, deep down, that you weren’t involved. You’re not-- you always were too ni--”

“Don’t say it,” Crowley interrupts and Aziraphale chuckles, good naturedly. “The bosses might pretend I no longer exist, but one can never be too careful, can you?”

Aziraphale sighs. Sometimes he wonders if it wouldn’t have been better if his own bosses pretended he didn’t exist either. “I haven’t actually watched the originals, you know?”

Crowley snorts. “I figured out as much. You were never much of the movie-type. I distinctly recall lying to you in order to take you to that autocinema, remember?”

Aziraphale’s lips curve upwards, his chest filled with warmth at the fond memory. “Of course. A wily old serpent you’ve always been.”

Crowley opens his mouth to reply, only to be hushed by Eve once more. The girl narrows her eyes at him and Crowley chuckles, pretending to zipper his mouth close and Eve nods, satisfied, before turning her attention back to the telly. Aziraphale smiles, shaking his head amusedly, leaning back on the couch.

It’s a nice couch, truth to be told, much more comfortable than any of the furniture back at Crowley’s old flat, with the exception of the bed, of course. It’s not terribly wide, though and seeing there’s no other chair in the room, the three of them are sitting on it, close together, Eve curled against her father, one of Crowley’s arms draped around her shoulders, some distance between him and Aziraphale, but the couch is not wide enough to actually fit them comfortably and if Aziraphale just moved a little to the right…

He’s suddenly all too aware of Crowley’s thigh, pressed against his, warm and solid. He’s leaning in Eve’s direction, so there’s enough space between their upper bodies, but if Crowley leaned back--

Aziraphale hurries to cut short that particular line of thought. It’s a dangerous path to be traveling, not to mention completely inappropriate. This is meant to be a be a quiet night in, he’s supposed to be simply enjoying spending time with his friend and he shouldn’t be considering…  _ other stuff _ .

And yet, as he watches Crowley thread his fingers through Eve’s curls, the girl growing relaxed and sleepy against him, he can’t help wishing his  _ friend  _ would welcome such displays of affection from himself; he can’t help thinking how terribly  _ domestic _ this whole thing is and if they were a real family-- if--

But no. That’s a thought not even worth considering.

Some things simply can not be.

* * *

 

Before their…  _ fallout _ , Aziraphale and Crowley had settled into the kind of routine that spoke of domesticity too, both happy to do their own thing while in each other presence, so comfortable with one another that they could spend days without actually addressing one another, but always in each other’s orbit. They haven’t reached that point and maybe they never will again: things are, after all, different. But Aziraphale can’t help thinking (hoping, or, blasphemous as it might be,  _ praying _ ) that, given enough time, they’ll find their way back to one another.

In the meantime, he tells himself, he must learn to enjoy what he has and be thankful for it, no matter how difficult it might be.

He looks at Crowley and Eve, both sound asleep now. He got up to take away their empty mugs and when he came back the pair was already dead to the world. It’s not surprising, he supposes, considering how late it is and Eve is a growing girl and Crowley… well.

He considers the pair for a bit, wondering if he ought to wake them up to send them off to their proper beds. They’ll wake with a cringe in their necks if they sleep like this and while Crowley might be able to miracle away, Eve won’t be as lucky. Then again--

He looks around the room, feeling slightly guilty as he takes his place from earlier on the couch, letting Crowley slump against him once he has settled. Crowley hums, contented, curling closer, pulling Eve with him. It’s an odd fit, truth to be told, but it feels impossibly right to be like this, with Crowley relaxed against him, his breath even, a small smile on his lips. Eve doesn’t stir either, rearranging herself into a more comfortable position without opening her eyes.

Aziraphale bites his lip, hesitating before draping his arm around Crowley’s shoulders, resisting the urge to pull him closer. He does not wish to wake him up, after all and just this much closeness is enough.

It has to be enough.

_ He’s an angel _ , he reminds himself and angels are not, by nature, greedy creatures. He ought to be happy with what he already has, which is more than what he had just a few months ago. At least now Crowley is back into his life and surely that’s enough.

It isn’t, of course.

And he’s not sure what to do about that.

* * *

 

He becomes aware of a pair of eyes fixed on him, a mighty glare being thrown in his direction. Aziraphale blinks, looking away from the book he’s reading, to find Eve watching him closely, eyes narrowed, lips pursued unhappily.

“Good morning,” he greets, putting his book down. “Slept well?”

“What are you doing?” Eve questions, eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s shoulder and that’s when the angel notices Crowley’s head is still resting against him and at some point he started threading his fingers through the short auburn locks.

“I… umm… well, you see…”

“Listen, mister,” Eve tells him, very seriously or at least as serious as six-year-old can be. “You better not hurt my dad  _ again _ .”

Aziraphale opens his mouth to reply that  _ of course he won’t  _ and  _ when has he ever  _ but then it occurs him that he has, in fact, hurt Crowley in the past. In numerous ways and more often than not  _ without meaning to _ , but that’s no excuse is it?

“I’ll try,” he promises earnestly, because that’s the best he can do. Then he thinks back on the reason why he’s in Helmsley and looking at Eve he can’t help worrying he might hurt Crowley again, probably in ways the demon might never be able to forgive him.

He closes his eyes. He must not think like that; if it all comes down to it, he’ll-- he’ll--

He’ll what?

“Do you care for him?” Eve asks, interrupting his increasingly disturbing thoughts and Aziraphale looks up at her guiltily, knowing he  _ shouldn’t,  _ because Crowley is a demon, the enemy, the Serpent of Eden and yet-- 

“I do,” he admits softly, half terrified someone will hear him, half hoping they will. He shouldn’t have accepted that pardon, he sees that now, he should-- if he had been braver-- if he hadn’t been so terrified of being cut from the only home he knew--

Except, of course, that’s not quite true, is it?

He looks down at the demon resting against him, taking in his calm expression, his relaxed posture and he  _ aches.  _ Oh, what a fool he’s been and the worst part-- the absolutely worst part-- is that it’s too late to do anything about it. Now he has more than a heavenly mission, he has a God-given mission and he must-- he must--

“Don’t hurt him,” Eve repeats, sliding off the couch and heading in the direction of the kitchen, presumably to get something to eat and Aziraphale watches her go, not quite daring to move, afraid to upset his companion’s sleep and also not wanting to let go, not just yet anyway.

He’ll have to, he knows.

But not just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I meant to write just a bunch of family fluff in here, but it went in a whole different direction. With the whole town being protective of Crowley (because as far as they’re concerned Aziraphale is a heartbreaker), I don’t know what I expected, honestly. Also, Aziraphale is super slow on the uptake so… well. He’ll figure it out eventually, but there are only so many revelations he can handle at the same time ;)  
> Anyway… I hope you enjoyed it! Next update might take quite a bit before I’m going to be studying for an assessment for a promotion on tuesday but if it goes well… well, I’ll probably have more free time. Maybe. I don’t know, actually :P  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	10. Unrequited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter. I’m not, in fact, entirely sure of where I was going with this, but I think it makes some kind of sense in some weird way and well… it ended up modifying quite a few scenes I had planned, but it might work for the best. There’s only so much drama one can take, right?  
> Anyway, enjoy!

“Do you think we ought to be a little more concerned?”

Emma ponders the question, absentmindedly biting her nails. It’s a bad habit, she knows and there are times like this when she wishes she hadn’t quit smoking, but it took her far too long to _actually quit_ , to let all her effort go to waste just because people are being frustrating. After all, people are people: it’s in their nature to be frustrating.

“About what, exactly?” she asks, settling more comfortably on the bench, deciding eating some of the chocolate she has just bought might do the trick. It tastes sweet, but sometimes all the sweetness in the world is not enough to quell the bitter taste in her mouth. It’s ridiculous to be jealous of what was never yours, could never be yours in the first place and yet Marcia’s _obsession_ with Anthony’s love life (or lack of it)...

Marcia throws an unimpressed look in her direction and Emma pops another piece of chocolate into her mouth. “If you mean about Ezra’s other… employers, perhaps. Anthony was awfully unclear about what to expect though, so I’m not sure worrying would help at all.” She looks across them, to the only other occupied bench in the park. “If you mean about their… _relationship,_ I’ll tell you once again: they’re both grown men. They know what they’re doing.”

It has become quite a normal image in town, to see Ezra and Anthony sitting side by side _somewhere._ At first most of the townsfolk had looked at the librarian with open distrust and with hostility: everyone knew just how brokenhearted Anthony was when he first arrived into Helmsley. Now, three months later, the looks have switched to mostly honest curiosity: it’s clear the pair care a great deal about one another and yet that seems contradictory with everything they thought they knew about Anthony Crowley and his mysterious gentleman friend. They had imagined Anthony’s ex as a callous man, with no real regard for his heart and yet the new evidence shows that either that’s not the case or Ezra is one hell of an actor.

Personally, Emma thinks it’s much more complicated.

Unrequited love is painful, no matter the form it takes, but there are some more deadly than others. Cruelty and callousness can kill you of course, but if you don’t let it, one does come on the other side stronger, as she’s certain Marcia could attest to. On the other hand, simple and pure rejection leave you wounded, bleeding in the ground and feeling like your life is over. But given enough time, no matter how deep the cut, _it heals,_ leaving nothing but a scar in its wake: a reminder to be more careful, but nothing else.

But there’s another type of wounds, the kind that never quite heal, because they’re often left unattended. Because they hurt, yes, but you get used to it, to the point it becomes an afterthought. Because it’s not rejection, not really: it’s unrequited, yes, but t _hey do care_ even if not in the way you so desperately want them to. So the feeling remains there, unspoken, unacknowledged, _unnoticed_. Hurting, but not.

In some ways, it’s the worst kind of them all.

Emma would know about that.

And yet, in Ezra and Anthony’s particular case, she believes it’s something even more complicated. Because the feeling is there, yes, unspoken, yes but not one-sided, not completely. They feel _similarly_ and yet they haven’t quite figured out how to make it work.

“ _Emma,_ ” Marcia says, in a tone that suggests she’s been trying to gain her attention for some time. “You’re not listening to me.”

Emma sighs, examining her now empty bag that used to contain sugary treats. “You don’t understand,” she murmurs unhappily, trying to keep the bitterness off her tone. _It’s not her fault_ , it’s never been, but some days it’s harder to remember than others. “And in any case, it’s Anthony’s choice. Just like it was yours when, you know, everyone said you shouldn’t get married.”

It’s a low blow and she knows it. She almost regrets it, although not quite. She wonders if there’s a more personal reason for Marcia’s clear opposition to Anthony and Ezra’s rekindled relationship. She and Anthony were close, Emma knows and he’s awfully handsome and sweet and he’s good to Juliet and Eve is like a sister to Juliet too, so maybe--

“That’s exactly my point,” Marcia argues, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just… I know we don’t have the full story, but he left for a reason. I just… Emma, I’m concerned.”

Emma sighs, because she’s never been good at resisting Marcia’s puppy eyes, even when the woman isn’t aware she’s using them. “I’ll talk to Ezra,” she says, because that’s all she can do. “You can try talking to Anthony, but I rather think that’s not going to help at all.”

But Marcia beams all the same and Emma sighs, thinking  it won’t make a difference at all but if it makes Marcia feel a bit better…

Well, it can’t possibly hurt either.

* * *

 

Night falls and the already deserted park becomes even more deserted, the few children who had been playing, heading for their homes now. Eve goes to her father and Juliet goes to her mother and the pair say goodbye to their companions before heading for Anthony’s car. The girls are happily chatting among them, perhaps a tad tired but as most children their age, they have endless supplies of energy so it doesn’t really show. Anthony and Marcia converse in lower tones and judging by the guilty look Anthony throws in Ezra’s direction, he’s already suffering through Marcia’s interrogation.

God, but the woman is stubborn.

Emma smiles, a sad and resigned thing, standing up. She doesn’t allow herself to linger on what she’s currently feeling; she had thought she had got used to it, but something has reawaken the mostly forgotten itch and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who’s scared of taking action, my dear girl.” She’s not sure when Ezra came to stand next to her and so she can’t help to startle a little. She sighs, turning her attention back to him. Once upon a time she’d have played dumb, because worse than your love being unrequited is everyone in town knowing it and pitying you, but she doesn’t think it matters, not with Ezra.

“I’ve known her my whole life,” she replies, starting to walk towards her flat. Ezra falls into step next to her without comment, nodding. “And she’s never shown any interest so… I’ve made my peace with it.”

“Have you?” Ezra asks, brow furrowed, a thoughtful far away look in his eyes.

“Some things aren’t meant to be,” Emma says, something she has told herself a hundred times before. “Love doesn’t need to be required to be true.”

“True enough,” Ezra agrees quietly. “But it’s painful, is it not?”

“Have you told him?” she asks instead of answering and Ezra looks at her like if she had suddenly sprouted a second head. His eyes go very wide, looking almost afraid and ready to argue, but then his shoulders sag and he shakes his head, defeated. “What happened between you two?”

Ezra sighs, looking upwards. “I wish I understood myself,” he murmurs softly, sadly. “He simply… he left one day and he didn’t come back.”

Emma frowns. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“Neither do I,” Ezra answers sadly. “I think… we have a complicated history, as he’s told you.” 

She hums, thinking. “Does this have to do with this other job of yours?”

Ezra stops abruptly, turning to her with that terrified look in his eyes once more. “What did he tell you?!”

She shrugs non committedly. “That you worked for _people._ And that he used to work for other people, on the opposite side.”

Ezra huffs. “Bit oversimplified… but yes, true enough,” he agrees softly. “It’s not the sort of thing that you can quit, but for a while it looked like it was over,” he murmurs morosely, his tone full of regrets. “And then, like a fool, I went back. In retrospective, I can see that was the beginning of the end. I should have known really, but I… it was all I had ever known. All the family I had had.” He bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood. “That might not be totally true.”

“No,” Emma agrees, looking in the direction Marcia and Anthony’s houses are. The street is deserted, but that’s not surprising, considering the hour. “Was he very upset when you…?” she waves a hand vaguely and Ezra sighs, looking upwards once more.

“I didn’t think so, at the time. Now I can see I simply saw what I choose to see,” he sounds angry at himself, but resigned too. “I have the impression we argued, but I can’t remember exactly,” he looks away, seemingly guilty. “I might… I think I was upset about something Gabriel said and I took it out in the wrong person.”

Ah, isn’t that how it always happens? “Did you try apologizing?”

“I don’t even remember,” Ezra insists, shaking his head, looking frustrated. “And I know Crowley. He won’t want to discuss it.”

“Sometimes it’s not about what we want, but about what we need,” Emma argues calmly. “What about Eve? And her mom?”

Ezra sighs. “I don’t know,” he replies softly. “Happened afterwards.”

The time frame doesn’t really work, but it seems to confirm a theory Emma has had for some time. Anthony has a lot of love to give, it makes sense he choose to place it on a child who didn’t have any of her own. “Do you mind? That he has Eve now,” she clarifies.

“I worry,” he replies softly. “He’s not-- our track record with children isn’t the best.” Now that’s curious, but it’s probably not the time to ask. “And Crowley isn’t… I wouldn’t have called him _nurturing,_ but it seems I was wrong.” He sighs once more, shaking his head. “It’s not like it matters. He’s my friend and that’s the end of it.”

“Only because you won’t tell him.”

“What would that accomplish?” Ezra argues, annoyance and frustration clear in his tone. “I’d rather not lose him again. I’m sure you can empathize.”

“It haunts you,” Emma says softly, eyes fixed on the ground. “You think you manage to put it behind you, but you don’t,” she continues, chewing the inside of her cheek, the physical pain keeping the edge of the emotional one at bay. “And in your case, it’s completely unnecessary.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not that stupid,” she argues calmly, stopping at the crossroads that will take them in different directions. “You know it’s not unrequited. A blind man could see how deeply you feel for one another,” she raises a hand to hush him, so he might not interrupt her. “You’ve just chosen not to. And I can’t say I don’t sympathize, because I imagine it must be complicated indeed, but love, _real love,_ always finds a way if the parties involved are willing.” She starts walking in the direction of her house, leaving the librarian standing at the crossroads both literally and figuratively. “Think about it.”

Aziraphale sighs, watching her go.

If only it was that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> It’s super short, I know, but we’re getting to the climax. Or not. I mostly mean we’re getting to the kissing and doing the do part, followed by mountains of angst as they finally figure things out just in time for the climax :P  
> Anyway… thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	11. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I think I might have lost sight of where exactly this was going, but it does get us to the point so… let’s pretend it was all part of the plan and that it makes perfect sense, alright?  
> Also, I edited it so it didn’t end as dark as I originally thought. There’s no need to get too introspective, is there?  
> Anyway, enjoy!

Three months it’s not a lot of time, not even by human standards. And yet, a lot of things can change in so little time: three months ago Crowley couldn’t go anywhere in town without receiving a bunch of pitying looks and now he can’t shake off the open curious ones. He hasn’t quite decided which ones are more annoying, but it doesn’t really matter: he just wishes they’d stop altogether.

Of course for that to happen, he needs to get Aziraphale out of Helmsley. Afterwards he’s sure to receive some more pitying looks, but he hopes there’ll be some other hot news by then and the townsfolk will be happy to leave him well alone once again.

He rubs his chest absentmindedly, chasing away the phantom pain that the thought of Aziraphale leaving always brings forward. It’s for the best really, there’s no way that the angel staying here for much longer will end well for him and yet, now that they’re together once more, he’s having a hard time imagining a life without him.

How contradictory.

“Here you go,” Marcia says, passing him a coffee mug. He takes it absentmindedly, still lost in his thoughts and his companion takes a seat next to him. “Eve has already decided she wants to stay the night, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“We live literally next door,” Crowley argues calmly. “It’s no trouble to leave.”

Marcia waves a hand distractedly. “It doesn’t matter. And now there’s no rush for our conversation to end quickly.”

“Your interrogation, you mean,” Crowley argues good naturedly, settling more comfortably on the plush couch. “I suppose we might as well begin.”

Marcia pursues her lips unhappily. “It’s not-- I mean-- I am worried about you, Anthony.” She looks absolutely miserable and Crowley sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s not entirely sure what Marcia’s story is, but from the few glimpses he’s got here and there, he thinks she knows heartbreak entirely too intimately.

“I know,” he whispers, taking a small sip of his coffee. “It’s not-- It’s not terribly healthy, is it?”

She sighs, pulling her legs close to her chest, her own mug resting precariously over her knee. “I don’t think so, no. He’s… you seem happy with him.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

Marcia sighs once more, looking upwards. “I wasn’t… My ex and I were happy, for the most part. When I was being the person he wanted me to be. I’ve seen you around Ezra, Anthony. You look happy, yes, but more… careful.  _ Guarded.  _ As if you’re treading on thin ice.”

Crowley bites his lip. Perhaps he does, but not for the reasons Marcia is thinking. Or not entirely. “You didn’t talk much about your ex, before,” she murmurs softly. “But once, when we had been drinking for a while, you told me something that stuck with me even the next morning, when I was nursing the worse hangover I had gone through in many years.” She smiles, but it doesn’t look terribly honest. “You said you could never be the kind of creature he could love. And if he can’t love you being who you are, if he wants to change you into  _ who he wants _ … that’s never going to work.”

Crowley does not, in fact, remember that conversation. But it strikes a cord all the same and he closes his eyes, pained. He can’t exactly explain what he meant by that; he can’t possibly tell Marcia that what he meant is that he’s a literal demon while Aziraphale is a literal angel and, that if someone is in the wrong here, it’s him. 

He knew what he was signing up for when he started his  _ friendship _ with Aziraphale. He always knew it wasn’t a two way street,  _ it couldn’t be _ . For both of their sakes, of course, but mostly for Aziraphale’s. And he knew the angel would never love him, not in the way he wanted him to, but he had thought-- 

Well, nevermind that.

“That’s not why I left,” he says, figuring he can be somewhat honest. “It’s not-- in truth, Aziraphale isn’t… we were never together.” Marcia raises her eyebrows, surprised and Crowley shrugs. “I never… we were friends. And I knew it was never going to turn into anything more, that was very clear from the very beginning: it’s not like… I mean…  _ he didn’t deceived me _ . I knew what I was getting into.” He takes a deep breath, willing himself to continue. “And I thought… I thought I could live with just his friendship, I had settled for that because the other option-- being without him-- that was just too painful to conceive.”

“But--”

He raises a hand, silencing his companion with a shake of his head. “I knew our…  _ circumstances  _ made anything other than friendship impossible and yes, I knew he could never love me, I knew I could never be the one he loved but when I left… I left because while I always knew a relationship was impossible, I thought he knew how I felt. I thought he understood and while he didn’t feel the same, I didn’t think-- I didn’t think he’d  _ question  _ the honesty of my feelings. I didn’t think he’d thought me incapable of feeling that way.”

Marcia’s frown deepens and she places her coffee mug on the table before sliding closer to him. “That… that actually sounds kind of worse.”

Crowley lets out a dry chuckle, which lacks any real mirth. “If you knew what I am-- who I really am-- You would see why he thinks that.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Marcia interrupts sharply, sounding so angry that Crowley startles, surprised. “I know you, Anthony Crowley. I don’t know what you used to do before coming here, I don’t know what kind of people you used to work for, but I know you. You are a good man,” Crowley opens his mouth to protest, but Marcia carries on, undeterred. “And I’ve seen you with Eve. Anyone who has would never question, not even for a second, just how full of love you are.”

That’s… unexpected. Part of his job as a demon required a certain ability to lure people in, to create a false sense of security, of making himself  _ likeable.  _ It wasn’t, contrary to popular belief, an easy task: human are conditioned to distrust what they can’t understand and hard as he might try to hide it, there’s not denying Crowley is  _ other.  _ Humans might not notice it on a conscious level, but they do try to stay out of his way on regular basis, out of sheer instinct.

It’s also part of the reason why existence without Aziraphale could get so damn lonely.

But Marcia’s words seem to crash against this long held belief. Oh, sure, he’s been nice to her,  _ friendly  _ even and he’s kept his mischievous nature to the minimum while in Helmsley, but she should feel he’s not human and so be wary of him.  _ Convincing  _ her he’s no good, that there’s a very good reason for Aziraphale’s belief shouldn’t have been difficult, her first thought after his words should have something along the lines of  _ I knew it _ . And yet--

Maybe, he thinks, it’s a side effect of his now terminated… eh…  _ work relationship  _ with Hell. That’s maybe why Eve took so well to him, not at all afraid even when she was so young and mostly ruled by insistic. She shouldn’t have been such a well behaved baby, now that he thinks about it, she should have been somewhat terrified of him if nothing else, she shouldn’t have found his presence soothing at all.

And then he remembers another child, just a little older than his little Eve when they first met, so easily lulled to sleep when he picked him up and sang and it occurs him that maybe, just maybe, there was never much demonic energy in him to begin with.

But that’s not here not there, he supposes.

“You don’t understand,” he murmurs miserably, pulling his knees to his chest, hiding his face against them. Marcia sighs, rubbing his back comfortingly, her hand warm from where she was holding her coffee.

“You’re probably right,” she agrees softly. “You’ll know better, I suppose, but just… I don’t want you to get hurt. More hurt, that is.” She continues rubbing his back, no doubt lost in her own thoughts. “Have you… have you talked about why you left? Does he know how he hurt you?”

Crowley shrugs non committedly. “It was a drunk conversation. It shouldn’t have… I don’t know why I was so hurt. I mean-- it’s nothing he hadn’t said before.”

“Good god, I like the man even less with every word you say.”

Crowley laughs mirthlessly. “You need to understand, our relationship was… difficult. With our work and bosses and all… well. I mean, they did try to kill us once they figured we were working together, so I never took it personally when he insisted we weren’t even friends.” He rests his cheek on his knee, so he’s facing Marcia, smirking a little at the funny face she’s making.

“We’re going to ignore the near-death for now,” she says, still making that curious expression. “And let’s pretend, for a second, that fear of death was a valid reason for him being an asshole towards you.” Crowley arches an eyebrow, amused and she waves a hand dismissively. “You know what I mean. It’s-- that’s not something regular people deal with and it’s not the crux of the matter.”

“Isn’t it?”

“He was working with you, Crowley, regardless of the perceived dangers. What was the harm in admitting, even if it was just between the two of you, that you were friends? That he cared? That  _ you  _ cared?”

Well, when Heaven and Hell are involved you never know who might be listening, no matter how careful and circumspect you try to be, but he supposes she has a point. It was dangerous enough what they were doing, how much worse would it have been if they had been more that co-conspirators?

In the end, both of their sides suspected there was more than a working relationship so what difference did it make?

“And besides, that was  _ before.  _ You’re retired now, aren’t you?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he replies with a shrug. “It’s not the sort of thing you can actually  _ retire from _ , but they’re happy enough ignoring me now, so… yeah, sort of.” Marcia arches an eyebrow, looking mildly concerned and Crowley shrugs once more. “There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

Marcia sighs, leaning back on her seat. “Well… if you say so. In anycase… what’s his excuse now?”

“He doesn’t really deny our friendship anymore,” he murmurs softly, not entirely certain that’s the case. If he recalls correctly, part of the conditions for the pardon included  _ getting rid of all corrupting influences. _

Of course neither he nor Aziraphale had taken that part too seriously. But, if Aziraphale had cared a bit more about their relationship, he’d have never accepted the pardon in the first part, would he?

Marcia makes a face, unconvinced. “There’s more between you two than friendship, Anthony. Even a blind man could see it.”

Crowley hums, considering. “It doesn’t matter. Some things aren’t meant to be.”

“And if you believe so, why do you kept torturing yourself this way?”

_ Because that’s his nature _ , Crowley thinks self deprecatingly. He’s a demon, he’s made for torture, especially of the self inflicted kind. “I told you, I’m just helping him so--”

“Have you made any progress in this… job of his?” Marcia demands and Crowley closes his mouth sharply. “I thought as much.”

“It’s not--”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me,” she argues calmly. “But you should consider you’re not doing yourself any favours by continuing like this.” Crowley bites his lip, looking away. “Something gotta give, Anthony and either you start taking steps to  _ fix  _ this weird thing between you so it might actually work… or you walk away.”

“I’m not ready for either,” he says sulkily.

“I don’t think anyone ever really is,” she says, patting his shoulder comfortingly. “But life is short and time is limited.” 

Well, that’s not strictly true, considering they’re (mostly) immortals.

But yeah, maybe it’s time. Seven years is a lot of time by human standards and it doesn’t really matter if he has the rest of eternity to figure things out: they’ve dragged this out long enough. Six millenia is probably considered long enough. It’s time to take action, no matter the cost.

Easier said than done.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?
> 
> The boys are finally going to talk! Like  _ talk-talk. _ They’re going to use their words! And we’re finally going to see what the hell went wrong between them.
> 
> The drama, of course, is far from over.
> 
> But we’ll get there, I promise ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	12. Communication is key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! A new chapter!  
> Last week and this one have been super crazy at work, so it’s very unlikely I’ll manage to get much writing done. Therefore I decided to cut this chapter a little shorter than I intended, although that makes it much more dramatic, I think :P So, on that note, if I did this right, you might need a few tissues at the end ;)  
> Oh well…. enjoy?

Communication is key in every relationship.

This is a well known (and accepted) fact among humans. Every advice column will tell you that if you want your relationship to work, you must communicate with one another. Failing to do so is a recipe for disaster and there are countless articles on how exactly to communicate properly.

Considering that, it’s actually kind of funny how bad at communicating people still are.

That holds true for ethereal/occult  beings too and, perhaps, they’re even worse than humans at that. Having the benefit of an eternal existence (barring any incidents involving holy water or hell fire, depending on the nature of the being in question), they don’t really understand the importance of actually _saying what you mean_ and they can let a misunderstanding hold for literal centuries.

But sometimes, just like humans, they have no other choice but to actually _talk about it._ It’s rare, truth to be told, but it happens. Sometimes, the stakes are too high to simply keep quiet, pretend everything is fine and hope for the best. 

But while communication might be key in every relationship, on itself, it’s not enough. And no amount of communication is worth anything if the involved parties aren’t willing to be honest with themselves and with one another.

There are several factors that weight in when it comes to a relationship working.

 _Talking_ is just a first step.

* * *

 

A knock on the door startles Aziraphale out of his thoughts. He drops the book he has held open on his lap for the last few hours and he huffs, annoyed with himself. He got so lost in his own thoughts he completely forgot about it and now it’s all crinkled, some pages actually teared. It’d probably be beyond salvation, but a little miracle ensures it isn’t and he places it on the side table; he has the feeling he’s forgetting something, but what--

Another knock on the door and he remembers. Right. He has visitors, it seems.

He knows who’s on the other side of the door, naturally. He’s always been aware of Crowley’s closeness, even if not always consciously. He knows the demon is the one who has come knocking and, if he made up his mind about it, the feeble locks on the door would not hold him outside, but he’s giving Aziraphale the option of not answering. He can choose to pretend not to be home and postpone this conversation for a little longer.

But maybe they’ve postponed it long enough.

He heads for the door, a ball of dread sitting heavy in his stomach. He hasn’t spoken to Crowley since last night at the park and yet he knows what this is about without a shadow of a doubt. He knows he must make a decision now, although the particulars of it still remain a bit of a mystery.

He could simply not answer, he thinks once more, his hand resting on the door handle. 

But he supposes he must. “Hello, Crowley,” he greets, opening the door and the demon doesn’t look even a tiny bit surprised he knew he was here. They share a look, solem, both all to aware of the implications of this meeting and both seemingly willing to deal with the consequences. “Come on in.”

Crowley straightens up, holding his chin high, defiant. Aziraphale’s unnecessary heart stops in his chest, already regretting his decision, but incapable of taking the invitation back. The demon strolls past him, looking for all intents and purposes like a man heading for execution, but unafraid.

Aziraphale can’t decide how he feels about it.

They sit on his couch, neither saying another word. He could go and putter around the kitchen, busy himself with making tea or cocoa or coffee or all three, but he’ll just be buying time. And like with a bandaid, he supposes he should just rip it off to asses the damage.

But--

“Do you remember anything about our last meeting? Before I left, I mean,” Crowley begins finally, keeping his hands very still on his lap, although they twitch, betraying his unease. Aziraphale’s insides clench, but he has no real idea why.

“Can’t say I do,” he replies, honest and Crowley closes his eyes, pained but resigned. He can see the crescent moons the demon’s nails are drawing on his palms and while he wants to reach out and attempt to soothe him, he figures he has no right to it.

“I’m not surprised,” Crowley says, looking at him. “We were very drunk.” Aziraphale huffs and Crowley smiles, an impossibly sad thing that makes Aziraphale ache fiercely. “Let me ask you something else, then. Why did you accept Heaven’s _pardon_?”

Hasn’t he been asking himself the same question ever since? And yet, he has failed to find a satisfactory answer. “I don’t know. I think-- I think I was scared. If I’m not angel, then what I am?”

“You’re a much better angel than any of those self righteous pricks that call themselves your superiors,” Crowley argues, although there’s no real fight in his tone. “But that’s not important right now. They asked you to get rid of all _corrupting influences._ ”

“Crowley, we agreed--”

“No, you decided.” Crowley interrupts sharply. “And, as usual, I went with it. Because, for me, there’s nothing more important than your happiness and if going back to Heaven’s good graces was what you wanted, I figured I had no right to say anything against it. Even if it hurt. Even if it showed me, once again, how little you valued me.”

“That’s not--”

“True?” Crowley challenges, eyes narrowed. “Think again, Aziraphale. You’ve never, not once, chosen me over Heaven.”

“And you have?” Aziraphale questions, although he already knows the answer.

Crowley looks away. “You know I have,” he murmurs softly, defeatedly. “I’ve chosen you over and over again, Aziraphale, even over my own safety, _my own sanity_ . But that’s not important either, because I don’t need you to reciprocate to validate my feelings. They are, on their own, perfectly valid. _Perfectly true_.”

“Crowley--”

“And you know I’d never ask you to chose me over Heaven. I know the consequences would be… I know the price is too high. I could not ask you to, because I couldn’t live with the guilt if you did Fall because of me. But--” he interrupts himself, taking a deep breath. “I’ll ask you not to question what I do feel.”

 _But he can’t_ . Because if he does, because if he admits that not only is Crowley capable of love but that he loves him, with open hearted devotion at that-- then what reasons does he have to keep his own feelings underwraps? What reasons does he have, other than fear of Heaven’s retribution? What reasons other than his own need to cling to the status quo, than his own cowardice? “I am sorry,” he says, because that’s all he can really do. “I don’t-- It’s not-- _I can’t._ ”

Crowley’s expression is something complicated. He looks… devastated, yes, but resigned. As if he was never expecting any other answer and Aziraphale’s unnecessary heart clenches painfully inside his chest. He wants to take back his words, he really does, but _he can’t._ He should, he knows he ought to, but--

“Very well,” Crowley murmurs finally, standing up. “Then I guess we’re done here.” Aziraphale opens his mouth to say something, although no words come out and Crowley nods to himself. “If you wish, I could take over your mission in Helmsley, whatever it might be. It’s not like She doesn’t know about our Agreement. And I know we still don’t know what exactly She wanted you to do, but I’m confident I could figure it out, once you’re gone. I can’t-- I can’t think with you around.”

“Crowley--”

“And I really wish you’d take me up my offer. I can’t lose you, Aziraphale. You’re my friend and the prospect of an eternity without you-- that’s not something I can stomach. But right now I need some time and space, exactly as I did seven years ago, which lead me to leaving in the first place. I understand your reasons for… _everything_ , but I ask you to show me the slightest bit of consideration.”

“Now, wait a second, that’s not fair--”

“I’m afraid I’m not particularly concerned about fairness right now, angel,” Crowley interrupts sharply, his tone oddly cold. “I’m afraid that, for once in our long acquaintance, I’m going to need to put my own needs first.” He’s not looking at him and that hurts, but Aziraphale figures he has no right to ask for anything right now. “Goodbye, angel.” And with that he heads for the door, expression tightly controlled and Aziraphale wants to go after him, beg for forgiveness, for understanding, for--

But no. That wouldn’t be right and for once, he supposes he ought to do right by his friend.

“Goodbye,” he murmurs softly, his heart breaking into a million pieces, the words containing an air of finality. Crowley said he just needs space and time, but there’s a part of Aziraphale that knows that if he lets him walk out of the door, he’s letting him walk out of his life.

But he must let him.

It’s only fair.

* * *

 

Crowley goes back home in a daze, his mind too numbed by pain. He knew which was the most likely outcome of their little conversation, of course, but he wasn’t prepared to actually hear it, he realizes now. He rubs his chest absentmindedly, the pain so accurate he fears his heart might actually give up. It wouldn’t matter, he knows, since he really doesn’t need a heart strictly speaking, but now he understands why humans can actually die of heartbreak. It feels like a part of him is missing, a gaping hole in the center of his chest threatening to swallow him whole.

God, how can humans survive this?

Somehow, he manages to make it to his bedroom, before collapsing on his knees. Now he’s seriously regretting the lack of tear ducts, since he feels like having a good cry. His body shakes as he sobs, but no tears come and he simply lets out inhuman sounds, his breath erratic. 

He thought Falling was the worst feeling in the world and that since he had survived the Fall, he could survive anything. He was clearly mistaken. He’s not sure how he’ll survive this, but it doesn’t feel like he will: he remembers the pain of his wings burning, of the impact upon the Fall, of his broken bones and burned skin and the lost connection to the Host. But none of that, absolutely none of that, prepared him for this.

The sound of feet approaching bring his thoughts to a halt. He hurries to try to get himself back under control, even though his chest still aches, his eyes burning. He looks up as Eve kneels in front of him, a concerned expression on her face. 

"I'm fine, love," he says, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Weren't you supposed to be at Marcia's?" 

Eve makes a face, unhappy. "You’re not fine," she argues, placing a hand in his knee. "I'm worried." 

Crowley’s heart clenches painfully. What a lousy father he's being, worrying his little girl like that. "Love, you don't need to--" 

Eve shakes her head. "You’re my dad, of course I worry," she argues. "I know there's nothing I can do, but…" she shrugs, looking miserable. "I'm here," she says, throwing her small arms around him. 

Funnily enough, it actually helps. He can feel the knot in his chest loosening up a little, his breathing coming more easily. He hugs her back, allowing himself to relax, the tension on his whole body easing. This, he thinks, it’s love and that’s more than enough for him. “Thanks, love.”

Eve hums, running her fingers through his hair in a soothing motion. “I’m here,” she repeats softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “And I’m not scared. I love you.”

That, of course, nearly breaks him all over again. Love is, indeed, scary business. And yet, when it’s true, it seems so simple. No doubt, no hesitation. He knows there’s no a single thing in the world he wouldn’t do for his little girl and while he’d never allow it, while he would always put Eve’s well-being first, he knows the feeling is mutual.

He’ll be fine, he thinks. Maybe not now or even soon, but eventually. It won’t be easy, naturally, but somehow he’ll get there.

The worst is behind him now.

* * *

 

“Are you better now?” Marcia asks the next morning, watching him as he makes coffee almost on autopilot, lost in his own thoughts. He can hear Eve and Juliet upstairs, playing and he smiles distractedly, thinking that, all in all, he’s rather lucky.

Crowley considers the question carefully anyway, staring outside the window absentmindedly. He aches, faintly, but not nearly as much as he did the night before. “I think so,” he replies slowly, rubbing his breastbone. “I think… I’m relieved, actually. Like… at least I know now, don’t I? And now that I know, I can finally move forward.”

Marcia smiles sadly, nodding. She takes the coffee cup he’s offering her and then covers his free hand with hers. “I know it’s not easy. But it’s for the best.”

Crowley nods. He’s not entirely convinced that’s true, not yet anyway. What he told Aziraphale last night is true: he can’t afford to lose him, not completely, but he’s going to need time apart. And considering their life-span, what’s a couple of centuries, really? “Love might not need reprocication to be true, but it does need a similar level of commitment on both sides to be healthy,” she tells him, patting his hand before letting go and Crowley nods once more. 

It does sound logical. “It’s for the best,” he agrees softly. 

But knowing so doesn’t make it any easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I know I said we’d see how Aziraphale and Crowley’s fallout went, but as I wrote I figured that really wasn’t the important part. The particulars of the fight aren’t that important in the greater scheme of things: it’s what was behind what actually caused the fallout. I’m hoping it’s making sense and while things are looking a little gloom right now, I’m going to promise, once more, there’ll be a happy ending. They just need a little more work.  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	13. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter!  
> I’m terribly sorry about the late update, work has been C-R-A-Z-Y and I’ve got no time to write and since this chapter is a good part of the emotional core of the whole fic, I didn’t want to rush it and well… I like the end result, truth to be told. It’s my hope you’ll be needing tissues by the end once more ;)  
> So, without further ado, enjoy?

_ Deep breaths,  _ She reminds herself.  _ Do not lose your temper over something so small. _

She pushes a bunch of documents off Her desk and they land with a not entirely satisfactory  _ thud. _ She scowls, throwing a small vase against the wall and the sound of it shattering is vaguely more satisfactory, but not overly much.

Still, She figures it’ll have to do. It wouldn’t do to throw a proper tantrum and certainly not over  _ this.  _

The problem with free will is that you can’t force anyone into anything. There are certain events that are predestined; they’ll come to pass one way or another. Of course the participants might deviate from the original scripts but the end result remains: an odd compromise between the Ineffable Plan and free will.

For this reason, Love isn’t part of the plan. There’s simply no way of compromising there: one can not force someone into being with another someone without tampering with their free will. As She often argues with Raphael, that old romantic, just because two people are meant to be, they don’t necessarily  _ need to _ be.

It also applies for ethereal/occult beings, of course. No matter how irksome it might be. 

Six thousand years. You’d think they’d have figured it out by now.

_ Poor darling Aziraphale,  _ She thinks sadly to herself. Angels (and demons, for that matter) technically don’t understand the difference between good and evil: how could they, when they never ate from the tree? But they have come up with their own theories and codes and so both do as they think best, considering the rules they themselves have made.

Sometimes, She wonders if She should say something. Sometimes, She wonders if it’s all Her fault for that early tantrum. Poor Morningstar, maybe She should have been more understanding.

_ It was all part of the Plan _ , She reminds herself. Still, maybe She was a little harsh.

That’s not here not there right now, though. It worries Her, how easily they’ve forgotten how sacred Love is, how it needs to be treasured rather than hidden or sneered at or  _ feared _ . It’s integral to every creature’s well being, the ability to love and be loved, no matter what particular form that love might take.

She taps her fingers against the desk, considering. She glances in the direction of the interphone, wondering if She should ask The Metatron to summon Aziraphale ASAP. But that, She thinks, might be pushing it a little too far. This is not, after all, part of Ineffable Plan. 

But--

_ No,  _ She thinks, folding Her hands neatly over Her lap. She’s already interfered too much. Maybe there’s no need for things to go anywhere else, maybe just friendship is enough. It’s not all it could be, but all types of Love are  _ Good _ and  _ Sacred _ and while her children finding Love makes her happy, She knows it can not be forced.

She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Nothing to do but wait, She figures. Only time will tell.

* * *

 

For the most part, Aziraphale looks perfectly unperturbed by last night's events or so he'd like to think. He hasn’t sleep, but that's not something out of the ordinary and while his eyes might be red rimmed, one shouldn't draw any conclusions out of it. 

He's perfectly fine, he tells himself. 

After Crowley left, he had allowed himself a few minutes to mourn the loss of his oldest (and only) friend. It was rather inevitable it'd end like this, he’d always known and so he never had too many illusions it could be any other way. 

So after ten minutes or so of solid mourning, he had gathered his wits about himself, picked up his book and had gone back to reading. Except of course he does not remember a single word he read, but that's not here, nor there. 

So he sits on the comfortable couch, book open on his lap, mind far away. He could stay here forever more, he thinks, stay out of Crowley's way as he figures things out. But then, there are  _ humans  _ involved and he gets the impression they won't let the matter rest, not as long as he stays in Helmsley. And while he's well aware he has a divine mission here, he supposes Crowley is right: She already knows of their Arrangement and She'll probably forgive him for leaving. She seems more understanding nowadays. 

But--

He closes his eyes. He does not like the idea of leaving, particularly not like this, but he figures he owes Crowley that much. If he gets called back to Heaven, if he gets punished for this… Well,he supposes he owes him that much. 

With that thought in mind, Aziraphale puts his book away and heads for the bedroom, slowly picking up and putting away what few trinkets he brought with him. He ignores the deep ache in his bones, the growing feeling of emptiness inside his chest. It needs to be done and so  _ he must _ . 

He'll be fine, he tells himself. And more importantly, eventually  _ they'll be fine _ . It might take a few years, but  _ they'll get there _ and that’s what matters, isn't it?

Yes, indeed.

* * *

 

"Ah," Emma murmurs, taking the offered document with an unhappy expression on her face. "So you're giving up." 

Aziraphale bristles a bit at the words, but he supposes there's some truth in them. "It's for the best," he murmurs and he wishes he didn’t sound so unconvinced. He does not know if it's for the best, but it's what Crowley wants and he owes him as much. 

Emma hums, reading Aziraphale's resignation letter, a mighty frown marring her features."May I ask you something?" she says, eyes fixed on the document. "Do you want to leave?" 

Aziraphale bites his lip to avoid answering right away. "It's for the best," he repeats. 

"That’s not what I asked," she argues calmly. 

Aziraphale sighs. "No," he replies finally. "But Crowley needs space."

“And what do you need?” she asks, leaning forward, resting her chin over her linked hands, resignation letter forgotten on top of her desk. “Do you need space too?”

Aziraphale blinks. He hadn’t stopped to think about that, but-- “No,” he replies after a brief pause. “I don’t-- I mean-- I just want things to go back to what they were. And I’m willing to-- give him space.”

Emma makes a face, expression caught between annoyance and pity. “Surely you realize things can never go back to the way they were,” she says and Aziraphale’s unnecessary heart comes to an abrupt halt. “Now that the cat is out of the bag, you only got two options: face the consequences headfirst or run away and never look back.”

“No, that’s-- I mean, we haven’t really--”

“Ezra, people don’t simply  _ stop  _ loving one another. You might bury it deep within yourself, but the feeling remains and when it’s unrequited… well, you learn to live with it. But in this case… just what are you so afraid of?”

Aziraphale opens his mouth, ready to answer and then thinks better of it. Emma looks at him, her gaze full of pity and she shakes her head. “Here,” she says, passing him the letter once more. “Just think about it.  _ Really think about it.  _ And if you still think leaving is for the best… well. That’s your choice.”

Aziraphale picks up his resignation letter as if on a daze and nods tightly, turning on his heel before heading for the door. It’s a good question, he thinks, one he thought he had the answer to, but maybe…

Maybe not.

* * *

 

What exactly is he afraid of?

The easy answer of course, is Heaven’s (and Hell’s) retribution. Neither side would have approved of a relationship between two of their agents, regardless of the nature of said relationship. But that’s a risk they both agreed to take willingly and they’ve had both faced the consequences of their actions already, even if they weren’t as deadly as they could have been. Aziraphale still recalls perfectly the sheer panic he felt when he was dragged into Hell and he saw the tub filled with holy water: had they not figured out Agnes’ prophecy--

But they did and so they’re still here and so the worst that could come to happen,  _ has already happened _ and  _ they’ve survived by relying on one another _ , so what is Aziraphale afraid of?

_ If I’m not angel, then what I am?  _ Losing his connection to Heaven would hurt, he thinks; the other angels are the only family he’s known, Heaven his only home. Except no, because sacrilegious as the thought might be, Crowley feels more like family than any other angel ever felt: the demon an actual source of happiness and comfort through millenia; no matter how dark things got, Aziraphale knew he could always count on Crowley to make it better.

He closes his eyes, remembering just how desperately  _ lonely  _ the last seven years were and after these last few months together, he’s having a hard time imagining spending the rest of eternity on his own. He thinks of lazy afternoons watching kids’ movies, lying on the couch with Eve between them, of the sheer contentment he felt just  _ being there _ . No, he thinks, Heaven was never a home, but being with Crowley, no matter where… that’s his real home.

But then, what is he so afraid of?

And then it occurs him that what Heaven might or might not do, isn’t the source of his fear,  _ it’s never been.  _ No, the real source of his fear, when he really thinks about it, is…

_ Crowley.  _ Or rather, the intensity of his feelings for Crowley. He can not abide to lose the demon, not now, not never and the power that gives Crowley over him is _ terrifying _ . He could break him in ways Heaven never could; seven years apart have felt like a literal eternity and the prospect of an actual eternity without him--

Heaven isn’t the source of his fear. Heaven is his  _ safety net.  _ Because if things go pear-shaped with Crowley, if the worst came to pass, at least-- at least he’d still have Heaven to cling on. Deep down he knows Crowley would not actually hurt him, not intentionally anyway, but if he did-- if something happened--

That’s what he’s scared off.

_ Well, that’s all well and good,  _ a voice inside his head says.  _ Now what? _

And that’s the question, isn’t it?

* * *

 

It’s past midnight and normally Crowley would have been abed hours ago, but tonight he wanders around the house like an errant ghost and filled with as much misery as one.   

_ It’ll be fine,  _ he tells himself, over and over like a mantra, but he’s having a hard time convincing himself of it.  _ It’s for the best,  _ yes, but why is he having so much trouble believing it?

A knock on the door startles him out of his dark thoughts. Crowley blinks, abruptly stopping his pacing, holding himself very still as he waits for another knock, uncertain if he really heard it or if it’s just his brain playing dirty tricks on him.

Another knock and he rushes towards the door, heart beating erratically inside his chest. Foolish to cling onto some idiotic hope, stupid to think Aziraphale will change his mind and come to sweep him off his feet like some damsel in a romance novel, but--

He opens the door and, wonder of wonders, Aziraphale is the one on the other side.

Well. Who would have thought?

"Angel, what--?" he begins, trying to summon some anger, fearing that otherwise he'll do something foolish, like completely forget about his resolution to put some time and distance between them. 

"Please, I know-- I know I promised to give you time and space," Aziraphale interrupts and that’s when Crowley notices how pale he looks, how terrified he seems. Has something happened? What? "But I need you to listen to me." 

He shouldn't, Crowley thinks, it won't do him any favours and it might sway him of his resolution, but when has he ever been able to deny Aziraphale anything? It doesn’t seem terribly fair or healthy, now that he thinks about it, but he finds he doesn’t have it in him to say “no”.

So he doesn’t answer, figuring that’s a good enough compromise.

“Right,” Aziraphale begins, nodding to himself, satisfied with Crowley’s silence for now. He takes a deep breath, that concerned expression on his face making him look  _ ancient  _ and something in Crowley aches, but he forces himself not to reach out in a desperate effort to comfort the angel. “I-- I’ve been thinking. And you’re right, I’ve been… most unfair. Cruel. Selfish. Cowardly.” He bites his lip, not quite meeting Crowley’s eyes. “And I’m sorry for that.” Crowley nods slowly, uncertain what to say. “And while I know it’s no justification, all I can say in my defense is that I was scared.”

“Angel, I know that--”

“I’m not quite finished, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale interrupts, raising a hand to silence Crowley, expression sad. “I always knew-- no, scratch that,  _ we both knew _ we were in for deep trouble if Heaven and/or Hell found out about our… relationship. But we took the chance. We both agreed on that.” Crowley opens his mouth to argue, but he figures that’s true enough. “But I always… I recognize now that I’ve been unfair. That you’ve put yourself in danger more often than not for my sake and I-- I-- Damnit, Crowley, I-- Whenever I ran into trouble I was never particularly worried because I knew that while Heaven wouldn’t lift a finger to help me,  _ you _ would.”

Crowley sighs. “What’s your point, angel?”

“I should have chosen you,” Aziraphale says, sounding so bloody earnest and Crowley’s treacherous heart skips a beat. “Whenever I chose Heaven, I should have been choosing you.”

Crowley sighs. “I could never ask that of you,” he murmurs softly.

“No,” Aziraphale agrees, stepping forward, taking his hands in his. “But you shouldn’t have needed to ask.” Crowley’s heart is beating rather erratically and, if he was human, he’d fear this was it. Aziraphale has stepped closer, too close even and he can’t breath, let alone think. “But I’ve realized something. It’s not about Heaven’s retribution I’m worried about. It’s not even-- I told you that I would not know who I am if I’m not an angel, but that’s not really the crux of the matter.” He takes a deep breath, expression a tiny bit haunted. “I’m scared of losing you my dear.”

“Angel, I’d never--”

“It’s not that I don’t know you love me. It’s not that I doubt the depths of your feelings, of your  _ devotion.  _ But I can’t-- If I lose Heave and then I lose you… what I’d do then?” Aziraphale says, tone pleading and, truth to be told, Crowley doesn’t have an answer to that. Above all, love is an act of faith and all you can do is trust the other.

Love is a very scary business.

“I can’t answer that,” he replies, tone deadly serious, letting go of Aziraphale’s hands. “Either you want to take the chance or not,” he adds and hurries to continue when Aziraphale opens his mouth to reply. “I’m asking  _ nothing  _ of you, angel. I know is scary.  _ I get it _ . I don’t want you to do anything that you’re not sure of. I’m just saying… I know the way I feel. And I’m not scared of my feelings, but I can’t continue like this. I’m not giving you an ultimatum, I’m simply saying… I need time to process.” He bites his lip gently, reluctant to make any promises but-- “We can pick up where we left it. Later. Someday.”

Aziraphale just stares at him, expression brokenhearted, but both know there’s nothing either can do or say. They’ve reached the point of no return and something gotta give.

“Right,” Aziraphale says finally, nodding. “I just-- I wanted you to know that I-- it’s not that I doubt you. I’m just-- it’s on me, not on you.”

Crowley nods tightly, a knot in his throat threatening to choke him. He doesn’t move as Aziraphale turns around and starts leaving, despite every nerve in his body urging him to stop him. It’s not fair on either of them, but there’s nothing left to do. There’s only one way forward now.

They’ve both made their choices and they must live with them.

Whatever that might mean.

* * *

 

Aziraphale isn’t entirely sure how he manages to make it back home, not with the gaping hole in his chest that’s threatening to swallow him whole. He has no idea what he was expecting; Crowley has always been the creative one and he had thought that if someone could come up with an answer to his particular dilemma, it’d be him. It’s not fair, he knows and now he also realizes there’s nothing Crowley can do. It’s his move.

Well, he’ll be damned.

He opens the door to the flat wearily, his limbs heavy, his eyes suspiciously wet. He won’t cry, he tells himself, there’s nothing to cry about. It’s his own damn fault and the solution is well within his means, if only he was brave enough.

But--

Distracted as he is by his own thoughts, it must not come as a surprise he fails to notice he’s not alone in the flat. It’s not surprising either that the sound of someone clearing their throat makes him jump out his skin, heart beating madly inside his chest.

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

Well, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> As I’m said, I’m happy with it, but I’m not entirely sure the conversation really addresses the core of the matter. I hope I made it understandable enough, but let me know if it just sounds weird :P  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	14. Reminders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, a new chapter! All I can say it’s that I’m sorry and well… be prepared?

The silence is oppressing, the only sound in the room Aziraphale’s own breathing. There’s no denying that his visitor is as unexpected as he’s unwelcome, but there’s little Aziraphale can do about it. His first instinct is to demand an explanation to the Archangel’s presence, but he doesn’t think that’s particularly wise: he’s fairly certain that if he was to speak, something terribly damning might slip out and now is _ definitely not _ the time to make any slips.

“The cat got your tongue, I see,” Gabriel says, standing up in one fluid movement, all composed elegance. There’s a glint in his eye Aziraphale doesn’t particularly care for and his eyes dart to the door involuntarily. He could never move fast enough to escape, if it all came to it, although he’s not entirely certain Gabriel would do something as reckless as actually attack him. Then again--

He forces himself to hold his ground, smoothing down his expression to something less resembling of utter panic. Gabriel’s visit spells nothing but bad news and yet the situation might be somewhat salvageable if Aziraphale plays his cards right.

He knew Gabriel’s visit was unavoidable, that sooner or later the Archangel was likely to drop by to see his progress and yet he finds himself completely at lost about what to do now. Somehow, it never occured him to plan for this precise escenario, despite the likelihood of it happening, and now he’ll have to improvise, something he’s, truth to be told, rather terrible at.

Well, nothing for it now. “You’ve been a little remiss with your reports, Aziraphale,” Gabriel continues calmly, circling him now like a predator waiting to pounce. “And given your  _ track record,  _ you’ll understand I became a little worried and figured it’d be wise to check.”

“I was given a mission by She Herself,” Aziraphale argues, in a flash of inspiration. “I was not aware I was supposed to report back to you,” he shouldn’t  _ need to, _ he doesn’t think, but he knows it would have been the expected thing. “Since you weren’t waiting for me after my meeting, I assumed the matter was to be considered… confidential.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrow, sensing the lie although Aziraphale is rather proud of his delivery. It’s not a total lie, in any case: She didn’t say it was a confidential matter, but She didn’t say it wasn’t either.

Gabriel smiles, that unnerving smile of his and he nods pleasantly. “Fair enough,” he says, leaning against the wall. “It does not mean that you should sever up all contact with me. As I said, given your history, one can’t help to worry.”

Aziraphale forces himself not to flinch. “Of course,” he says, with a nervous nod. “But Helmsley is a very nice town. Nothing noteworthy really happens and there are not… eh…  _ corrupting influences _ .” That is both true and not: Crowley is not, by any extend of the imagination a  _ corrupting influence;  _ even if Aziraphale didn’t know him at all it’d be hard to call it corrupting what he has done in town but it’s also a lie because he knows his Superiors would never consider a demon’s influence anything  _ but  _ corrupting.

“Is that so?” Gabriel asks, smiling like the cat that got the cream and Aziraphale’s blood turns into ice. “We clearly have varying definitions of what can be considered corrupting,” the Archangel says, smile infuriatingly pleasant, radiating self satisfaction and making Aziraphale itch with the need to do something. “A demon’s influence is always a foul thing, regardless of the human they’re influencing but an innocent child…” Gabriel trails off and Aziraphale’s eyes are very wide with panic, heart beating erratically inside his chest. “I thought you had learned your lesson, Aziraphale,” he continues, tone full of false regret and Aziraphale would bristle at the implications if he wasn’t so busy panicking. “I thought we agreed getting rid of that particular influence was in your best interests, but either you’re a fool or the demon’s hold on you is too strong.” He shakes his head, a regretful expression on his face. “You were clearly over your head for this divine mission.”

“You don’t-- that’s not-- She didn’t say--”

“Never fear, though,” Gabriel continues, ignoring Aziraphale’s attempts to speak. “We’ve seen your weakness and we’ve decided to help you back into the flock; Heaven’s mercy is endless after all,” he carries on, undeterred by Aziraphale’s very evident panic. “Do not be afraid, Aziraphale. Soon enough you and that poor, _ poor  _ child will be freed of the demon’s corruption.” Aziraphale’s eyes dart to the door once more, his sole thought being getting back to Crowley’s ASAP. “We’ll see to that,” Gabriel continues, all pleasant smiles and soothing tone. 

“We?” Aziraphale asks, voice a barely audible murmur and Gabriel smirks.

“The rest of the Archangels, I mean. Michael has been most generous offering to help, although you know her: she’s always down for some smiting.”

Aziraphale is at the door a second later and the fact that Gabriel doesn’t even try to stop him does nothing but feed his dread. “It’s too late!” Gabriel yells after him and Aziraphale’s unnecessary heart clenches inside his chest.

It’s his fault, he can’t help thinking. If he had-- if he hadn’t--

But none of that matters, not right now.

He needs to get back to Crowley’s and he needs to do it now.

That’s what matters.

* * *

 

_ Well, shit _ .

His paranoid tendencies have served him well, Crowley thinks as he watches Michael try to undo his many anti-angel wards. They’re tricky things, wards, especially when one wants to be specific about them, so they’ll let in just one particular angel while keeping all others out but he’s glad he bothered with them, otherwise he’d be a very smote demon right now.

_ Shit, shit, shit. _

He could try to make a run for it, but he knows it’s very unlikely he’ll manage to outrun Michael, particularly when she’s so clearly inclined to reach him. He wonders briefly how Aziraphale is faring; if Michael is here he has no doubts Gabriel is with the angel and only She knows what the conclusion to that particular encounter will be. He spares a few seconds to regret the bitter way his last conversation with Aziraphale ended and then focuses on more mundane matters, like  _ what the hell he’s going to do now _ .

He’s a dead demon, he knows that much. But his own death is a matter of little importance in the great scheme of things; he has the impression that’s a secondary concern for the very enraged Archangel outside his door. No, he’s fairly certain killing him is just an added bonus, the real target is--

“Eve!” he yells, shaking the girl awake, well aware the panic in his tone will do nothing but make her panic too, but too worked up to do anything about. “Come on, love, you gotta leave.”

“Leave where?” Eve asks, rubbing her eyes tiredly, still half asleep but quickly catching up with Crowley’s mood, particularly when he starts guiding her downstairs in a rush. “Dad, where are we going?”

“I’ve got to stay,” he murmurs, peering outside the window into the backyard. “I’ll buy you some time, but you got to run.” With any luck, Michael will be disinclined to hurt any humans in her attempt to hunt down Eve, although he knows there’s no guarantee. Maybe if he manages to settle the Archangel’s bloodlust she’ll leave his little girl alone. “Run to Marcia’s and don’t look back.”

Eve’s eyes are very wide, fear clear in her face. He wishes he could reassure her everything will be fine, but he knows that’s an unlikely scenario: he’s no fighter and this is the Archangel  _ Fucking _ Michael, so what are his odds of surviving? “I love you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple, lingering just for the slightest bit. “Now run.”

“But dad--” she tries to protest but the front door makes an awful noise right then and Eve looks in the direction of the living room, terror etched in her features. “Dad--”

“Run,” he insists, pushing her towards the door and she hesitates just a second, before she obeys. Crowley turns around right away, his heart breaking into a million pieces as he hurries towards the front door. As long as Eve is safe--

Well, every sacrifice is worth it.

“Just keep her safe, alright?” he asks, looking Heavenwards. “Keep  _ them  _ safe,” he amends, thinking of his little girl and Aziraphale and Marcia and Juliet and even Emma, who will get dragged into this mess one way or another. “That’s all I ask.”

And with those last words, he waits for the door to open, ready to face his fate.

* * *

 

As he makes his way towards Crowley’s house, it occurs Aziraphale how much of a fool he’s been.

Of course he sort of knew that already, he had already figured that his damn cowardice was going to cost him dearly. It just didn’t occur him that price would take this particular form nor that he’d found it impossible to pay it. He knows what he risks by getting in the way of Heaven’s particular brand of  _ justice  _ and yet he knows that’s the right thing to do,  _ the only thing to do _ , really.

God, when did he get it so wrong? He should have known--

Not that it would have made much of a difference, he musses darkly as Crowley’s house comes into view. There’s little he can do to stop an Archangel, but at least  _ he would have been there.  _ He’s been selfish and self centered and he should have known this would come to pass. It was unlikely he’d go for so long unsupervised, he should have known things were just  _ too quiet _ . If he had-- If he hadn’t been so lost in his own head, so caught up with his own shortcomings and mistakes--

But that’s neither here nor there anymore. The  _ what if _ s and  _ should have _ s are matters of the past and all he can do now is hope he’s not too late.

He doesn’t dare to think about what will happen if he arrives and it turns out he’s too late indeed.

It’s not worth considering, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> There’s nothing much to say on this particular chapter, I’m afraid. The ending is nearly upon us and I hope this chapter didn’t feel too abrupt and rushed and out of the blue :( It breaks a little with the flow, I think, but it’s one way to propel the story, I think :P  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	15. Desperate times call for desperate measures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The new chapter! I finished this on friday, but I wanted to ruminate on it for a little while and during the weekend I have very little chance to actually sit down and write so… well. But here it is now and I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Helmsley is, for the most part, a quiet small town, where nothing noteworthy ever happens, its inhabitants happy with the peace and quiet that living in a small rural town provides. Some might even go as far as to call life in Helmsley boring and predictable.

Except tonight, that is.

For many years to come, the locals will amuse each other with tales of what they saw on this fatidic night, although none of them witnessed the most important events of it. Sure, they were all aware of the sudden storm that seemed like it was going to raze the town, not to mention the mighty thunders that fell and destroyed more than a few trees. And yes, most of them suffered through the lights going out and some electrodomestics exploding and more than one got terrified by the eerily quiet that surrounded the town, despite the raging storm, but none of them were witness to the supernatural confrontation that was responsible of all that.

No, none of them got to witness any of that.

But if you care to join me now, we will.

* * *

 

The storm starts out of nowhere; it was a perfectly agreeable night right before it did. It’s a testament of Michael quickly losing her temper; patience has never been one of her strong suits and when it comes to some righteous smiting, her patience runs even thinner.

It’s no surprise then when the front door finally breaks, throwing splinters all across the hallway. Crowley barely has time to react: one second he’s standing his ground, terrified but resigned and the next his back has smashed against the wall, pain spreading all across his body. “Hello, Michael,” he manages, despite the breath having been pushed out of his unnecessary lungs. “Fancy seeing you here.”

The Archangel rolls her eyes dramatically, her hand suddenly around Crowley’s neck, making breathing harder and harder. “Where’s the child, demon?”

“What child?” Crowley wheezes out, ignoring the crushing grip around his neck. It hurts like nothing else has hurt before and he knows the pain will only get worse. But he’s well aware he needs to keep Michael entertained and in order to do that, he must attempt to fight back.

He pushes back with all his might and actually succeeds on freeing himself: it’s clear Michael didn’t really expect him to fight back and he can’t help to grin madly, relishing the look of surprise on the Archangel’s face.

He’s a dead demon, so he’ll get his kicks from where he can get them, really.

He thinks of Eve and of the distance between his house and Marcia’s. It’s not that far, he knows, so in all likelihood Eve is already there and with any luck she’ll be safe there for the time being. He hopes Marcia won’t be inclined to do something foolish, like come over to try to help and with any luck she’ll do some running of her own. Of course it’s impossible to hide from an Archangel, but maybe if they manage to put enough distance--

He hears something snapping and stares dumbly at his now broken wrist. He’s not entirely sure when or how that happened, but now Michael has him cornered once more. His ears are ringing, he thinks he banged his head against something, the world quickly turning fuzzy on the edges. Michael is grinning, looking pleased with herself and Crowley hisses angrily, cradling his broken wrist closer to himself. Terribly bothersome to get hurt like that, but there’s nothing to do now.

His back hits the floor and the ringing inside his head is getting worse. The pain of his wrist is getting worse too and attempting to get up with just one hand and half of his body aching in ways he does not care to describe is no easy task, so it’s not surprising he ends up falling down once more. 

Next thing he knows, there’s someone kneeling next to him, although their features are a bit unclear. He’d recognize those eyes anywhere though and while he can’t exactly make out the words, he recognizes Aziraphale’s soothing tone.

He clings to the angel’s arm like a lifeline and he briefly wonders if this is all an hallucination, if he’s already managed to lose conscience. There are worse ways to go, he thinks distantly, his grip on Aziraphale’s arm tightening as he thinks of their last conversation. He wishes there was still time to make amends, but he’s used to things not going his way, so he supposes that, all in all, that’s a fitting ending.

“Aziraphale, stop this nonsense,” a new voice says and Crowley blinks, wondering just when did Gabriel arrive. Michael’s lips are drawn into an sneer as she says something too low for Crowley to catch and Gabriel’s lips curve upwards briefly, before his expression turns falsely concerned once more. “I won’t say it again, step back.”

“No,” Aziraphale says, his tone firm, holding Crowley against him in a protective manner. “ _ You _ stop this nonsense; you have no right--”

“No right! How dare you--” Gabriel’s voice booms so loud it hurts Crowley’s ears. He’s in a lot of pain and Aziraphale’s tight hold isn’t exactly helping the matter, but he’s not about to ask him to stop. It’s nice to be held, even if it hurts like Hell. He manages to pull himself into a sitting position, holding to Aziraphale’s lapel for dear life, not caring for whatever the Archangel is preaching, his mind focused on one thing only: keep his loved ones safe.

“Aziraphale, you need to leave,” he whispers softly, against the angel’s ear so he’ll be the only one to hear.

“Hush, dear,” Aziraphale whispers back, his touch on his face feather soft. “Save your strength.”

Crowley shakes his head, which only succeeds on sending a fresh wave of pain down his body. “Leave,” he insists, squeezing the angel’s wrist gently in an effort to properly communicate the urgency of his petition. “Look after Eve, please.”

Aziraphale’s expression is haunted, but he looks away because Gabriel is speaking once more and his face contorts into something feracious, angry. Crowley’s unnecessary heart skips a beat and he thinks that if he was not so busy trying not to lose conscience, he’d enjoy the display of protectiveness, not to mention that, for once, Aziraphale is choosing him above everything else.

It occurs him that’s a terribly selfish thought, particularly considering what it’ll entail, but--

Suddenly Aziraphale’s comforting warmth is gone and he’s sitting against the wall, the angel standing in front of him, wings spread protectively.  _ It’s not worth it,  _ Crowley wants to say.  _ You can still save yourself,  _ he means to say but only a broken sound leaves his throat and he doesn’t even manage to catch Aziraphale’s attention.

He needs to do something, he knows, but his body is refusing to obey. There’s just pain, radiating from every inch of his body and he needs-- he wants-- he should--

“That’s quite enough,” a new voice booms out suddenly. The voice is familiar and yet not and Crowley half turns his face to see the newcomer, who has just walked through the backdoor.

“No,” he whispers brokenly, his gaze narrowing. The newcomer offers him a small apologetic smile, but Her gaze quickly shifts to the angels, who are now staring at Her, all of them with open wonder. 

Humans’ bodies are not meant to hold divinity and Eve’s small body is clearly struggling to contain Her essence, which of course is making Crowley panic. He told Eve to run, not wanting her even remotely involved in the confrontation, wishing to protect her above all else and now-- now-- 

“Lord,” Gabriel begins, bowing low. “We only--”

“Silence,” She commands, raising one hand. To the casual observer it might strike them a as a funny image: a young child silencing a full grown up man, especially one as physically imposing as Gabriel, but Her presence radiates from Eve’s small form, making her appearance much more commanding and terrifying. “Did I or didn’t I chose the Principality Aziraphale to carry out a mission in Helmsley  _ on his own _ ?”

“But Lord, he’s not fit--”

“Do you presume to know better than I, Gabriel?” She continues, expression foreboding. “Or you, Michael?”

“Of course not, Lord,” Michael hurries to deny, bowing her head low. “We only-- we thought--”

“You’re not to intervene any further,” She instructs calmly, Her blank expression looking at odds in Eve’s usually so open face. “I entrusted Aziraphale with a mission and I’d like to see him carry it out to its last consequences.”

Aziraphale’s expression is one of agony and Crowley’s heart clenches inside his chest. They share a look, both knowing where this is heading and he nods minusclely, the movement going unnoticed by the rest of the room’s occupants. It’s better this way, he thinks, at least he knows Aziraphale won’t drag it out unnecessarily and maybe--

“Lord--” Aziraphale begins, looking away from Crowley and She raises her hand, silencing him.

“In a minute,” She says, Her attention still on the Archangels. “You are to leave now and let Aziraphale handle things as he best sees fit.”

Gabriel looks ready to protest, but seems to think better of it a second later, his lips drawn in a very thin line. “Of course Lord,” he agrees, bowing once more and turning to Michael. “Shall we?” Michael looks as unhappy about the whole ordeal as Gabriel, of course, but both have enough good sense not to argue with the Almighty Herself.

There’s a flash of lighting and Crowley spares a thought to his poor plants before turning his attention to the matter at hand. Outside the storm stops as abruptly as it started, leaving nothing but peace and quiet.

“Sorry about that,” She says finally, turning her attention back to Crowley, who’s once more being supported by Aziraphale. “I did ask for permission first,” She clarifies, signaling Her current vessel. “Terribly rude to possess someone without asking first. And she was so terribly worried about you, so--”

“You took advantage,” Crowley argues, angry. He knows he should be a tad more concerned about the fact that the Almighty Herself decided to show up at his house; She is, after all, all powerful and who knows what She might do to him if he annoys Her enough, but he has bigger concerns right now. “You’re hurting her,” Crowley points out, with just the slightest hint of anger and She scrunches her nose, staring at her hands.

“Not really, no. Do you know children are the best vessels? They radite pureness for the most part. Very lovely soul, this one,” She smiles, nodding to Herself. “Good work.”

Crowley snorts and Aziraphale throws a panicky look in his direction. She chuckles, shaking Her head, droplets of water splattering across the floor. “I didn’t mean to intervene,” She whispers softly, staring at Her feet. “But it was getting out of control.” She sighs, looking upwards. “They mean well, I suppose, but… well.”

Leaning against Aziraphale, Crowley manages to stand up. There’s not a single part of his body that’s not aching, but he has no time to focus on that. “Well, that’s all nice and good, but kindly leave my daughter’s body  _ now _ .” He doesn’t think he sounds very threatening, not with his voice breaking and with him nearly falling apart, but he means every word.

“My dear--” Aziraphale begins, soothingly, but Crowley ignores him. Even if She says She’s not hurting Eve, he’d rather not take any risks. Human bodies aren’t meant to hold in any amount of divinity and he worries what prolonged exposition to it might do to his little girl.

She narrows Her eyes at him, expression pensive. It’s an odd look on Eve, she doesn’t look like herself at all and a shiver runs down Crowley’s spine. He’ll be damned again before letting anything happen to his little girl.

“Very well,” She says finally, turning her attention to Aziraphale. “I trust you to carry on with your mission.” She smiles and Crowley grunts, ignoring the new flash of pain: he knows what’s coming next and while he doesn’t like it, he knows that, all in all, it’s not the worst possible outcome.

“I won’t hurt him,” Aziraphale declares solemnly, once more stepping in front of Crowley protectively. The demon’s heart stops in his chest, panic suddenly flooding him. It’s one thing for him to act all defiant, but for Aziraphale to do it--

She doesn’t answer, just watches him in silence for a beat before a smile spreads across Her face. “You’ve made your choice, then,” She says and Aziraphale stands a bit straighter, holding his head high and Crowley does his level best not to scream in a fit of panic. “Good. I’m counting on that.”

And then She’s gone and Eve falls down, prompting Crowley to move inhumanly fast in an effort to stop her fall, only mildly succeeding. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple, holding her close, ignoring the fresh wave of pain his impromptu movement caused him.

“We’ll be fine,” Eve murmurs softly, sleepily and Crowley can’t help the nearly hysterical laugh that escapes him.

Yes, it seems they’ll be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I like it, although I have the impression that last confrontation was meant to be longer although I can’t remember why :P But now that that’s done we can begin rounding the story up so we might come to our promised happy ending ;) I’m planning on just writing one more chapter but well… there’s a lot of roundup to do, actually ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	16. An ending (and a beginning)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The last chapter and the happy ending I promised.

The room is quiet when Crowley wakes up. The curtains are drawn, so he’s not entirely sure what time is it, but he has the impression he’s slept for a lifetime. It wouldn’t be the first time, he musses to himself as he sits up and as pain flares across his body with the movement, he finds himself nearly passing out once more.

He closes his eyes, taking deep breaths in an effort to keep the pain at bay so he might examine just how extensive the damage is. He does not remember what happened, but that’s not important right now. He knows the room he’s in, even if he can’t quite place it right now and he _feels safe,_ which he supposes it’s good enough for now.

Someone stirs next to him and he can’t help tensing, despite the new flash of pain that provokes. He half turns to observe his bedmate and memories start filtering back, one at the time, taking him through quite an emotional journey that leaves him more than a little exhausted.

But Eve is safe and sound, he’s alive and Aziraphale--

Where the Hell is Aziraphale?

He looks at Eve once more, who’s still lost to the world, curled into a small ball, clutching the pillow with all her might. There’s a slight frown on her face and Crowley smooths it down with his fingers gently, a soft smile on his lips. His brave little girl, bargaining for something that she could not comprehend, out of worry _for him._

That’s not how it works, he thinks. Children are not meant to make sacrifices for their parents and he would have gladly go through whatever Hell if it meant keeping her safe.

She is safe, he supposes, although it’s a little early to tell if there’ll be no lasting consequences after her brief brush with divinity. He isn’t even sure if she’ll remember: it might be in everyone’s best interests if she doesn’t, but then again--

Well. That’s a concern for later, he thinks.

The door opens, startling him out of his thoughts and prompting him out of the bed, despite the way his whole body protests at the sudden movement. As far as he remembers the Archangels are gone and She gave them a bit of a talking down, but--

“Oh, you’re awake,” Aziraphale murmurs, expression caught between surprise and concern. “I… how are you feeling?”

Crowley considers the question thoughtfully. “I’ve had worse,” he replies, which he supposes it’s true enough and Aziraphale flinches. He looks a little worse for wear himself and while Crowley remembers him confronting Gabriel, he doesn’t remember it being a _physical confrontation_ , but then he was pretty out of it.

There’s a beat of silence, neither entirely sure of what to say, neither knowing where they stand. “I healed your wrist,” Aziraphale offers, shrugging casually. “And your ribs. But I didn’t want to risk hurting you further by using too many miracles. Heaven and Hell might have forsaken us, but I’m technically still an angel and you’re technically still a demon, so…”

“Us?” Crowley asks, frowning. “I seem to recall Her being a little too self satisfied when you said… what you said.”

Aziraphale shrugs non committedly. “She works in mysterious ways,” he says dryly, his lips curving upwards in a self depreciating smirk. “I now seem to recall that on my first meeting with Her, when I was given my _mission,_ She mentioned something about love being sacred, but…” he shrugs once more. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Doesn’t it?” Crowley asks, his frown deepening. There’s no use in hoping for the impossible, he knows: that’s a path that only leads to pain and confusion. He knows how hard Aziraphale finds to defy Heaven, to let go of what he knows even if he does not longer trust it and so--

“I’ve made my choice,” Aziraphale murmurs softly, not quite meeting his eyes. “The choice I should have made ages ago.”

There’s something lodged in Crowley’s throat, not allowing him to speak. The lack of tear ducts is becoming problematic, although he doubts there’s much to do on that regard. “Angel, I don’t expect--”

“I know,” Aziraphale replies softly. “I know you don’t expect anything from me and I’m not-- it’s my choice, my dear. And I’m sorry it took me so long; that it took nearly losing you for me to see what was right in front of me.” He’s suddenly standing too close, holding Crowley’s hands between his. “I love you, Crowley. And I’m so sorry I ever hurt you and dismissed your own feelings, but, if you’re willing, I’d like to try to make it up to you.”

Crowley closes his eyes, wondering if this is all an elaborate dream. The pain he can feel deep in his bones seems to suggest that no, it isn’t, but at the same time--

“Alright,” he murmurs finally, opening his eyes once more and offering Aziraphale a wan smile. “You can try to make it up to me,” aiming for sarcastic and yet not quite meeting the mark.

“Of course,” Aziraphale agrees, a bright smile on his lips, leaning forward a little. “I’ll try my best,” he promises solemnly, his lips hovering over Crowley’s now, all he ever dreamt about well within his reach now. “I’m not afraid anymore.”

Well, that’s good, Crowley thinks as their lips met for the first time.

Because he’s _terrified._

* * *

 

“Look at this,” Crowley says, standing in the middle of his teared apart garden. “My poor garden.”

Aziraphale’s attention is fixed on him though, so he just hums non committedly. Crowley wants to roll his eyes, but he holds back knowing Aziraphale’s concern is justified. He shouldn’t be moving this much, he knows, he might heal faster than humans, but he needs some rest and yet he couldn’t sit still. Eve is still asleep and while he supposes that’s normal enough, given the circumstances, he can’t help thinking--

“Anthony Crowley!” Marcia yelling his name is all the warning he gets before he gets enfolded in the woman’s arms, concern and affection radiating from her. It hurts, since she’s squeezing way too tight, but he can’t deny it’s quite nice.

He might be a little touch starved, now that he thinks about it.

“My dear girl, you’re hurting him,” Aziraphale tries to intervene, stepping closer. “You’re holding him too tight.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Marcia exclaims, letting go of him immediately. “I’m so sorry, Anthony but after what Ezra told me… oh, I was so worried!” she hugs him once more, more gentle this time and Crowley manages to return the hug if a bit awkwardly. “It’s awful, just awful,” she continues, shaking her head as she proceeds to examine one of the bruises on his face. “With that awful storm I couldn’t hear anything; if I had--”

“I know,” he interrupts gently, taking the hand that’s poking at his bruise in his. He shares a look with Aziraphale, who smiles sheepishly. He’s not entirely sure what he told his (their?) human friends, but he imagines he gets the gist of it. “I’m fine Marcia, really.” It would have got far messier if she had got involved and he would have never forgiven himself if something had happened to her or Juliet and really, it’s better like this. 

“But you nearly weren’t,” she argues and to Crowley’s horror there are tears in the corner of her eyes now. “And I-- I should have--”

“I’m fine,” Crowley insists, squeezing her hands. “Really.”

“And Eve?” Marcia asks and Crowley can’t help to flinch. “How’s she?”

“She’ll be fine,” Aziraphale intervenes, because Crowley suddenly finds he can’t speak. It’s normal enough, he supposes, and She did say Eve would be perfectly fine but it’s not like She can be trusted, not really, so--

He must not panic.

Not yet anyway.

* * *

 

Eve stumbles into the living room a few hours later, just when Crowley is about to give into his urge to panic. She looks sleepy, but perfectly fine, rubbing her eyelids tiredly as Crowley pulls her into a hug.

“I’m fine, dad,” she murmurs between jawns. “I told you we were going to be fine,” she says, which suggests that she does remember what happened last night and Crowley isn’t entirely sure how to feel about that. She doesn’t seem inclined to discuss it just yet though, seeing she’s perfectly happy turning her attention to Juliet, who’s giving her a talking down about the risk of taking beverages from strangers.

As cover stories go, attempted kidnap it’s not the worse one and Eve seems to catch up with the lie easily enough.

“Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” Eve protests sulkily, letting Juliet hug her and returning the embrace. Marcia kneels down next to her, talking in hushed tones and asking how she’s feeling and Emma steps closer too, asking her own set of questions while Crowley collapses on the couch, feeling like he can breath once more. Aziraphale sits next to him, patting his hand comfortingly and the demon dares to believe the worse is finally past them.

One can only hope.

* * *

 

She watches the scene unfold, brow slightly furrowed. She knew the child would be fine, of course, but one can never be too careful, She supposes and it’d be terribly rude not to check on the girl. Such a lovely thing, although children that age generally are and so very concerned about her father and the feeling clearly mutual, seeing how Crowley had reacted to the possession and given everything… well, it was only polite, really.

She leans back on her seat, considering. Parents, for the most part, care for their children, even if some of them are terrible at showing it and sometimes go the completely wrong way about caring for them. She thinks of the demon and his obvious affection for the girl, well beyond even his survival instinct. She knows Crowley has always been a bit of a special case and that’s part of the reason why She made a point of observing him through the centuries, but She must admit She didn’t expect his reaction: he used to question Her before, of course, but that was mostly for curiosity’s sake, not _defying_ and yet, even knowing of the strength of Her wrath, even after having experimented it first hand…

Love is a curious thing. 

Parental love, She thinks, ought to be unconditional, unselfish. She’ll admit She hasn’t been the best of mothers, certainly not seeing She casted some of her children away and terrified the rest of them into blind obedience in the process, even if it was part of the Ineffable Plan. Not terribly maternal of Hers, no.

And not only has She been a terrible mother, She certainly hasn’t been the best of leaders, so the Archangels’ poor handling of the situation is no one’s fault but Hers.

She taps Her fingers against Her desk, considering. She had thought a little happiness couldn’t go amiss and so had encouraged Aziraphale to pursue it, even if not in so many words. But She has got more than what She bargained for from this particular experience and She’s not entirely sure what to do now.

It’s not comfortable recognizing one’s shortcomings, but it’s necessary in order for one to improve. 

 _She’ll do better,_ She vows to Herself. The fault of last night’s mess lays on Her shoulders only and so She’ll start sorting it out. She’ll do better by Her children. “Metatron,” She calls, pressing the intercom on Her desk. “Announce a meeting, will you? I want to talk to my children.”

It’s a start.

* * *

 

“There’s a surprising amount of human studies on the benefit of children sleeping alone, did you know?” Crowley says, running his fingers through Eve’s curls. She’s asleep once more, still tired after her brief brush with divinity. “Fleedings don’t sleep on their own until they’re-- what? a couple of centuries old?”

Aziraphale hums, leaning against the door, a soft smile on his lips. “It’s been so long since there were any fledglings in Heaven, that I can not honestly remember,” he replies gently, a bit sadly. “There was a lot of talk against _fraternizing_ after… well, you know.”

Crowley hums, still running his fingers through Eve’s curls. “When she was four, she announced she was a big girl now and so too old to continue sleeping with me,” he tells him, a small smile playing on his lips. “I had read a lot of books saying you shouldn’t force them into having their own beds until they’re ready, but none of them said what to do if you were the one who wasn’t ready.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “They grow so fast.”

Once more, the angel hums, approaching him and resting his hands on his shoulders. “You’ve done a fine job, my dear.”

“I’ve tried,” Crowley replies with a shrug. “And I almost… If something had happened to her--” his voice breaks and so he swallows his words, finding he can’t bring himself to voice his fear, finding he can’t bear to even think about it.

“But nothing did,” Aziraphale tells him gently, massaging his shoulders. “And you put on quite a fight to ensure that.”

It wouldn’t have been enough, they both know, but it doesn’t matter right now. There’s no use on torturing themselves like that. “When you told Her… what you told Her, I was terrified,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes fixed on Eve’s sleeping form, feeling oddly uncertain. “I thought that’d be… I didn’t expect it to work out as it did.”

Aziraphale hums, the hands on Crowley’s shoulder stilling. “Neither did I,” he confesses softly. “But I had made my choice. I was a coward for not making it sooner, but--”

“Stop that,” Crowley argues, turning so they’re facing one another. “You were scared and I get that. Heck, _I am scared,_ even now, even knowing She apparently approves.” He takes the angel’s hands in his. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale agrees quietly, looking at their linked hands. “But-- I trust you, my dear. I need you to know that.” He squeezes his hands and Crowley can feel his own heart squeezing too. “And we’re in this together now. For better or for worse.” He smiles, a bit tightly, nervous but so full of hope.

“For better or for worse,” Crowley agrees, his eyes suspiciously wet despite the lack of tear ducts.

For better or for worse.

* * *

 

“Aren’t you a tiny bit concerned?” Crowley asks, elbows resting on the table, expression pleading. Eve continues chewing on her cereal merrily, shaking her head. “You don’t have any questions?”

“Oh, many,” Eve replies carelessly, whipping her mouth clean. “You’ve been around for a lot of things I want to know more about, but if you mean do I have any questions regarding your and/or Mr. Fell’s nature, then the answer is, mostly, no.”

Crowley shares a look with Aziraphale, who simply shrugs. He’s relieved, truth to be told, by how well Eve is taking it all, but he can’t help to worry too, concerned it might just be the shock of it all what’s keeping her so calm.

“No, wait, I do have a question,” she says, putting her spoon down and Crowley looks at her, feeling even more relieved. “Am I going to get any siblings now that you’re together? How would that work? Would they be human like me or--”

Aziraphale is choking on his own saliva and Crowley’s face is burning, but he manages to string an answer together. “That’s-- I don’t think it’s a concern, love.”

Eve frowns. “Why not? You could technically manifest all the body parts necessary to make babies and I really want--”

“No babies!” Crowley exclaims, his whole face tomato red. “That’s-- No, I’m afraid it’ll be just you, sweetheart.”

Eve pouts, that particular pout she knows usually allows her to get her way, but there’s no budging here. No sir, not at all. “Your father and I have much to figure out,” Aziraphale offers after a beat of silence, having recovered from his embarrassment. “We’re not… this whole relationship thing is new for us.”

 _Understatement of the century,_ Crowley thinks. They’ve kissed exactly _once_ and it wasn’t the kind of kiss novels get written about. It had been a bit… perfunctory, more out of a sense of it being the done thing rather than something they actually wanted to do, nevermind how long Crowley has been dreaming about it; in his dreams there was always a bit more of a build up to it.

“Fine,” Eve says petulantly, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Have it your way.”

Aziraphale smiles, ruffling Eve’s hair affectionately and she gives a token of protest, although it’s clear she doesn’t really mind. Crowley smiles and watches as Aziraphale moves away, something in the living room having grabbed his attention.

“I’m not entirely sure I like him just yet,” Eve tells him, startling Crowley a little, busy as he had been letting his mind wander aimlessly. “But you obviously love him so… he can stay.”

“Most generous,” Crowley replies, smiling.

Eve hums. “If he hurts you again though… well. I have friends in high places now.” Crowley laughs, incapable of holding himself back and Eve smiles, bright and full of affection. “And dad… you should know, it doesn’t change anything,” she says, suddenly serious and Crowley’s heart skips a beat. “You’re not… I know _who_ you are. I don’t care _what_ you are. You’re my father and I love you.”

Yes, that’s definitely a tear. His treacherous body is getting ideas, it seems. “And I you, sweetheart.”

And nothing could change that.

* * *

 

The garden is, indeed, a mess.

Crowley takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. It could be worse, he reckons. At least they all live to tell the tale, even if all his body still aches. The healing is going well, though and he suspects it won’t be longer than a week before he’s back to mint condition.

“Pity the tree didn’t survive,” Aziraphale comments, coming to stand next to him. “It was Eve’s favorite, I’ve been told.”

Crowley’s lips curve upwards. “It was. Fitting, don’t you think?” the angel rolls his eyes and Crowley chuckles. “We’ll plant another,” he says softly, resting a hand against the charred bark. “It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

Aziraphale makes a non committal sound. “You’ve made a life here,” he says softly. “And human friends. It’ll make things harder, in the long run.”

“And now you choose to lecture me over that?” Crowley asks, one eyebrow arched. “Like it or not, they’re your friends too. And your kid, sort of.”

“I don’t think Eve has warmed up to that particular idea,” Aziraphale replies with a small sarcastic smile. “Even if she’s already thinking of siblings.” Crowley chuckles, his shoulder brushing his companion’s and Aziraphale smiles at him, before stepping closer. “But yes, things will be difficult for both of us in the long run. Human lives are… a blink of an eye. I thought you made a point of no socializing because of that?”

Crowley shrugs. “Parenthood changes you,” he says and smirks, looking at the night sky. There’s not a single cloud in sight, leaving a perfect view of the stars. “Aren’t you glad we didn’t run to Alpha Centauri?”

Aziraphale hums, now pressed to Crowley’s side. “Maybe we’d have figured things out sooner, if we had,” he murmurs, smiling softly. “But yes, I’m glad we didn’t. I’m glad we stayed to try to save the world even if… well, you know, we didn’t really help that much.”

Crowley chuckles. “Indeed,” he turns and Aziraphale turns too, so they’re facing one another. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers, his hand coming to rest against the angel’s cheek. “And selfish as it might be… I’m glad you chose to stay with me, regardless of the consequences”

Aziraphale huffs. “Not much of consequences, were there?”

“You didn’t know that,” Crowley argues, caressing the other’s face. “And you still chose me.”

Aziraphale’s gaze softens. “As I should have done a thousand times before,” he kisses Crowley’s palm, feather light and the demon’s unnecessary heart melts. 

“We have time,” he says softly. “We have all the time in the world to make up for the lost one.”

“We do,” Aziraphale agrees, standing on his tiptoes. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to start by properly kissing you.”

That sounds like a plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I can’t help feeling like it’s a bit disjointed: I had too many ideas and some didn’t quite make it to the final cut, although I implied some of them but I’m not entirely convinced they’re readable enough :( So feel free to point out any inconsistencies you find and if there’s something you think needs a bit more working. There might be more of this verse, in the form of short vignettes, but I’m making no promises ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, a million thanks to everyone who’s been reading so far. Another million thanks to those who left kudos and/or commented; you guys keep me motivated and you’ve made this my most kudo-ed fic ever! 
> 
>  
> 
> It’s been a joy to work on this tale; as I said at the beginning, I started working on this four years ago, but it never saw the light of the day and in all honesty I thought it never would. I’m so happy it did and that you guys enjoyed it so much!
> 
>  
> 
> Now I think I’m going to go back to writing “[A matter of convenience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812436)”, as I said I would and I’m also going to focus on my fic for the Good Omens Big Bang which should be fun, I think ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Again, a million thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know what you thought?

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


End file.
